Deep within the soft twists of voices

the blessings from angels is woven within

the thorns of hearts, releasing a blessing

of sweet words like manna on sidewalks as

day washes over dusky curtains of

faces and shoulders.

There is no room for wings within crowds

where the language of the streets seeks the

weak while blessing the strong.

People gaze past the next corner, the next

door, the place they need to be to have arrived.


The words of heaven slip around moving souls,

finding little to adhere to while helping the lost.




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