Poetry · Short Stories

The Angels Are on Fire

Here the shadows are falling as the voices are calling straining to a whine. Here the bravest of men are running scared searching for a way out, groping for a sign; and the angels are on fire. Here the weak are crushed into scattered dust, as the strong stand tall and thrive. Here there is no hope as tears form rivers that never run themselves dry; and the angels are on fire. Here life is close to death and the living close to dead, as images of loss and pain go running through your head. Here chaos takes the place of order and resentment the place of love, here we are forced to exist in torment as god watches from above. Here we are lost and confined in the mire waiting to be free, but the angels are on fire and can no longer hear us scream.

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