The Lesson

I am surrounded with featherless
Angels, unaware of their capabilities,
The sea of possibilities that spans their
Entire lives, on a planet they survive the

Constant questioning of their existence
And allow little resistance to freedom of
Speech and preach different values having
Affinities for the minorities of different

Backgrounds and liabilities rest on their
Shoulders, they lift boulders with human
Fingers and cry human tears, the years
Have gifted them a new understanding of

Reasons why they have landed in such an
Ironic place where prayers are desperation
And desperation has no escape, they replace
Holy water with holy words and release sins

To the wild like unholy birds and all the
While shield our worth from the lesser kind,
And find similarities in us with both good and
Bad but never fail to connect with the madness

Of our race, a fondness of our changing faces,
They draw halos over our heads, little discs of
Gold and instead of damming us to the
Darker lands for abandoning what we are told

When it comes to faith, they wait, at bus stop, at
Train station, in awe how one person can
Change a nation and they are unfaltering
In their belief and come to realise how

Strong the weak can be and turn tables in
The name of poverty, turning blood to wine
And bread to bones, following the pathway
Sent from home, subconsciously, and

Naturally, over time, they question the
Absence of their wings, unable to return
When the trumpeter sings and at last they
Discover the struggles of what being human
Truly means.

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