Brialee Turner

Angels.
Who are they?
And how does their ethereal presence
Bear the darkness of the Earth?

What are their wings made of?
Shimmering and iridescent
Bits of heaven?

How do they fly? Are they weightless?
And why don’t they always arrive on time?

Are they clouded
From me,
Like a vision that is so bright,
I must close my eyes?

Angels.
Floating,
Free and Holy,
A magic that I want to
Grasp forever,
But that I am unsure if I can
Find.