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



◄ Walk Through September and Make it to the Other Side

Curioser and Curioser ►


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Paul Sands

Thu 20th Dec 2012 07:44

Thank you for your kind words Mike

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Wed 19th Dec 2012 23:21

I find this a very striking piece. Of the recent poems I have read this one stands out the most yet I am surprised that there are not more comments. Surely our fellow poets must know talent when they see it?

Well done Paul. This short poem is terrific.

Nice work



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