i can’t see you, but you can see me, i’ve heard about bells and wings and things, hollywood movie, it’s a wonderful life, yes, of course it is, but are we all alone here? we mortals, plodding through the daily grind, doubtful, that you don’t exist, you do, sometimes we see you, in dreams, in our mind’s eye, or, as one might call it, our third eye, perhaps this sounds like new age mumbo jumbo, such a strange expression, but i’m on a tangent, back to you, entity of the spirit, soul, subconscious force of good, surrounding us, escorting us after passing, where do you take us? you are so many things to so many people, how do we come to know you? through prayer? meditation? faith? or just belief? are you christian? or does all that specific religion stuff not matter? if you answer me, how does that work? i’ve seen you in children’s books, watching over the sick, guiding people to be better, are you light? or just love? can any of us be angels, if we care enough?
Tag: Angels
Music of Bearded Angels
he always wanted to
tell people how obsessed
he was with music
piano like mozart endless
dreams before sleep, he
heard his mother in
this sound night after
night, and the doo
wop voices on street
corners like his father
snapping fingers in a
tight white t-shirt, could
have been the fonz
it all surrounds him
these memories of morrissey
sweetness, he was only
joking, gosh that was
poetry when poetry was
supposed to be just
robert frost, maybe dickinson
and these memories are
just his, his ventura
highway in the seventies
summer of bushy hair
and bee gee bearded
angels, like endless youth
living in the air
Daniel W. Polk 