And the first angel wept, wet feathers and bent knees.
All this glory, and what for. All this empty, and what it would become.
The answer, the unfurling of wings, the millennia to pass.
What will happen if I stay here.
Let me dry your wings. Stand up.
There is a story to be told. You are here to tell it.
© 2015 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.