an angel with a broken spirit, clinging to humanity
with forgotten hope and a dying soul, he lays himself down
gingerly placing the buried emotion into a rusted cage
locked with a severed key, and an iron seal
the key is set into the wandering eyes of men, in plain sight
but such an object is overlooked time and time again
waiting to catch the attention of a single human soul
a collector of broken things, and a seemingly worthless object
she desperately ushers people aside, in hopes of being the first
the first to behold an entity of so much potential
unknownst to her the constant quest of man
to find something greater than an everyday object in the street
but to her, this was her life practice, to find the broken things
this was her greater, this was her everything
and the angel could feel the humans warmth
and began to cry, the first feeling in what felt like millennia
and instead of the anticipated pain and hatred, it was one of love
one that not even agape, philia, or eros could complete
for it was different, timeless, simple, and completely her own
the box remained with the angel, but it felt almost weightless
and he could finally rest, as someone had finally taken possession
and for the first time he drifted off, as the collector tenderly polished the key