The voices of angels
Hang by a thread
A ribbon from Heaven
Words yet unsaid
The sour tongue of sorrow
A tear from the sky
Reflection from mirror
A deep hanging sigh.
The sound of wings
Angels slowly unfurl
Shake free their worries
Lost in this world
Invisible footsteps
To echo unseen
Walk the dark corridor
Of each mortal dream.
The abandoned desk
Of poets now gone
Ink and yellowed paper
Now travelled on
To realms of pure beauty
Young women to smile
The death of the muse
Immortalized in time.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: May 20th, 2026 01:53
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: Katie B., Jerene, arqios
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Comments3
Excellent, somber with a smooth, easy flow. A fave!
most kind, much appreciated, thanks
It seems that poetry is a dying art held by a thread in other art forms such as rap. Well written
much appreciated, thanking you
You are most welcome Norman
A vision I’ve had now poetícesed marvellously. Also imagining how much more yellowing a yellow legal pad would undergo in the aging process. lol 🙏🏻🕊️
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