is a glorious angel.
It swoops down
with magnificent wings
and clasps a shrivelled old demon
between its strong, powerful arms;
a demon that is the world outside of
verse.
It carries the demon to the edge of
eternity
and back again.
The demon, still old,
feels young;
still shrivelled,
feels full of strength.
The powers of this angel
are boundless
and limited only by those
who don’t take the time
to visit it.
Though it is sometimes called poetry,
the angel has many names,
but prefers the name:
love.
Left to our own devices,
some may never find the power
of this divine angel called
poetry
in this lifetime.
Then we start to become
the demons,
but we need not fear,
for the angel inevitably
finds us.
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