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Falling Fire (poem)

An archangel lights his wings ablaze,

to crash through the atmosphere.

And knowing he’ll never be raised,

he lands beholden to this sphere.

The scars on his back appear as hair,

and his halo twisted leaves the same.

Now a mortal with blood to bear,

with nothing else but faith to blame.

He crashed into this morbid realm,

to retrieve righteous love on earth.

And without his godly helm,

fights for all that he is worth.

I self-immolated to come back to you,

I highly suggest you follow through.

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It's been a while since I posted a poem. So much irritation subdued in frustration. The creative bell rings less often when these distractions soften the blows to vibration and stifled timing. Here I