The Death of An Angel

The dying angel fell to its knees.
I heard in the distance it beckoning me.
His glow had faded and no chorus would sing.
For the devil had come and cut off his wings.

Scurrying away, that darkening blight.
The devil had fleed, fleed from my light.
And under his arms he embraced the wings.
Blood drenched and broken, nowhere to be seen.

I looked at the sand where angel tears had been weeped.
Then looked to my bed where reality sleeps.
I then picked him up dead in my hands.
And I somehow felt fault for the blood on the sand.

His expression was lasting with fear of the end.
But mein eyes were caught by feint marks on his skin.
Then I realized he's been cast down from Heaven.
Tatooed with sixes in the absence of seven.

I awoke in my bed. Sweat drenched my sheets.
I couldn't move an inch from my head to my feet.
I beheld mortal death in that cold desert sand
With wings in my arms and a knife in my hand.

-John Ratliff