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What Angels?

what angels they?

 

they that always seem

to be looking

the other way

while in absentia

those robed in blight

and grey

of beak pick the bones of

our grief

genuflecting  promises

on the never-never

of a day

after tomorrow that none

will ever see

 

what angels they?

 

they that can no longer

play

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tragedy.gun.americapointlessgodangel

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