Coming as a multitude
are the sins that do return,
Moving through the father’s son,
meant for those that are to burn.
Captured long in solitude,
and low on bended knee,
Is the fallen angel lost
between joy and misery.

Long forgotten morning light
dwells in a past far behind,
Touching wings of the white dove
once drowned in a distant time.
The footprints of the Holy
disappear on broken stairs,
And screams from those suffering
override her silent prayers.

Nothing seems to matter much
to the now discarded soul
Whose face will not be revealed,
whose pain cannot be consoled.
Was born to be left drifting
on a stagnant pool of dreams
That’s far beyond the shoreline
of salvation’s rolling streams.

Yet, sometimes just now and then
and for reasons unexplained,
Voices in the darkness tell
of a pathway left unchained.
Might lead to a vacant cross
where sinner’s fates had been sealed,
And where fallen angels wait
for broken wings to be healed.