Can we not find solace in any creature crawling the earth Or soaring in the vaulted Heavens? Should one relay the hurt of existence to a squirrel, It will simply tell you that it eats to stay full And stays full to live, but there is yet to be a point in living; You simply do. And an Angel, bless the Angels with their silken feathers Brass trumpets and omniscient eyes They would not hearken to my mortal grievances They know not, or perhaps too much of what it takes To have thoughts or minds like ours. And then there are the Unspeakables, The writhing beasts Howling in the caverns beneath our feet Utterly hopeless for all that requires hope to begin. So we are left to wander the fields, To find that they are owned by the birds and bees We are left to build aircrafts and all the wonderful things That will never breach the mortal sphere. We are left to dig as deep to our molten core as we can, To be greeted by the sinuous jaws of horror To find that every realm is vaster Than what our spidery arms can reach And that every philosophy is wider Than what man’s mind can wrap around “Live,” says the animals, “Die,” says the demons, And the Angels exist above it all. What are we but to wade in the cracks on the ground That everyone else left behind?
written by me, @-rainii_sky- on 2/12/26 i do not own the photo shown #poem #poetry #writing #angel ┆ ┆ ┆ ┆ ┆ ┆ ┆ ࣪ ˖☆ ࣪⭑┆ ݁˖ .☆ . ݁ ˖ ☆⊹ ࣪ ┆ ˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ★ ⋆.˚ ⊹ ࣪ ࣪ ˖⋆˚★ ₊ ⊹ ࣪˖ ࣪ ₊ ࣪ ˖ . ݁ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ࣪ ˖ . ݁ ݁ .
