Thursday, 3 November 2016

    Angels Wings

I am pondering the nature of 
angels wings.
Fluttery things.
Gossamer 
like powdery moths
or butterflies, 
fluttering by.
Or, feathered like a bird's.
Made to hover and soar.
To glide on the thermals,
higher and higher,
heavenwards.

Not tight skin and bone
like bat's 
or scaly like dragon's.
Prehistoric.
Long before the birds 
and the flutterbies.
But, after than the angels,
later than those fluttery things.

So did the feathers come first
and fall to earth
becoming scales
on the way down.
How far did they fall
before they left heaven 
and hit the ground flying
to metamorphose
and make a scaly shell
of skin ready to burst
and open dustily. 
Powdered.
Clothed.
Scaled like moths
in clouds
of dust

Not so different then
in the scales of things,
those powdered creatures
those fluttery things,
those angels wings.


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