Un-winged and naked, sorrow surrenders its crown to a throne called grace.
September 11, 2001: Citizens of the U.S., besieged by terror’s sting, rose up, weeping glory, as if on eagles’ wings.--from the poem Angel of Remembrance: Candles for September 11, 2001
Where humanity sowed faith, hope, and unity, joy’s garden blossomed.
With its leaves so rich and heavy with elation and its crimson face made brighter with visions of divinity the shadow of a certain rose looks just like an angel eating light.
Stars wishing upon the potential of humans shine faithfully on.
That good gardener, who wept thorns plowing his fields - harvests grace with joy.
Such are these places where lovers of bliss behold the angel of peace
As goes love so goes life.
Here are lips of flame eager to be extinguished by love's liquid sigh.
Now come the whispers bearing bouquets of moonbeams and sunlight tremblings.
Varieties of angels, like varieties of love, are many.
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