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The coming of angels
by Paganini Jonesa burnt-out car
sullenly rusts
amongst rank grass.
abandoned trash spills
from torn, rotten bags.
blank windows
hide the scurry of rats.
a cat squalls.
a black crow pecking
at some scrawny carcase
startles,
leaps for the sickening sky
with wingbeats
like the thud of distant drums.
early evening.
in the distance,
bright whistling.
a sudden ray of sunlight
turning broken glass to glitter
illuminates a paper scrap.
a fragile feather
drifting on a hidden breeze
flutters aloft,
white, bright
against the leaden clouds.
somewhere
a lark begins to sing.
sweet rain falls
11/10/2007 Author's Note:
God's messengers are called angels. They may or may not be in human form or have wings.
For those who are confused by this poem, see it as having 2 halves. Each verse has its pair 1-4, 2-5, 3-6.
Posted on 11/10/2007
Copyright © 2024 Paganini Jones
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 11/10/07 at 03:42 PM Quite the contrast between title and contents Pag. If there are angels here, they're certainly well camouflaged. Quite the unexpected jem from you. |
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