Guardian Angels

He silently whispers that he has to escape;
Summoning the guardians above -- words of hope;
Begs for the clutter to vanish, to finally feel enraptured by life.
Clarity distinctively appears out of reach;
He grasps onto the olive branch as it abruptly disintegrates;
Attempting to cling to any sign of his existence;
Praying to find, to be found.
To make sense of this chaotic reality he once controlled;
Asking for a speck of importance -- dash of recognition;
Drizzling explosive teardrops down the curves of his concave cheeks;
His fist in the air, his feet on the unsteady ground.
Listening for a voice, but not hearing a sound.
He shouts screams that he has been forgotten;
Swearing at the angels above -- words of hatred.
If not found, then he will find himself.


Published by notapeepbutlotsofpaper

A silent voice with lots to say. I speak with pens to stay away.

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