Angels
If Gabriel
had an oboe,
as Morricone
thought he might
he'd summon
me low and soft as he did
wooing with
ways and words
piercing my
heart,
as he
did.
Angel--messenger--
sending
arrows winged with declarations
announcing
in my hearing
a
salve-bringing message
healing the
piercing,
releasing
the flood
held back by
brick-walled lies
and
stone-cold pain,
untold ache
I never knew
'til he
announced the truth.
Angel--light
bringer--
he'd hold my
face
towards the
sun,
as he did
speaking freedom
over me,
affirming my
release
pronouncing
power, peace,
making me,
this time,
the
Messenger.
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