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Poem-It Is The Day Of Angels Waiting
IT IS THE DAY OF ANGELS WAITING HOME
It is the day of the angels waiting for you to come home.
Home is where the angel is when we are not there,
but here instead.
Listening is the voice of an angel speaking
Speaking is interrupting their silence. Your silence.
Angels turn the page for us
when we are too weak
to read without
the page turning.
Parrots are angels of colour
lighting our heartís
there was only darkness
Rainbows are angels dancing airwaves
into sky. Birds sounding like birds
are really rabbit shopping lazily
through space and time becoming
That is why rabbits hop. They become
birds in the hop,
in the space, where you donít
Between the hop, the jumping and the landing,
You donít see them jump
or in the in-between
or in their landing.
But you feel them as they fly by,
hopping jumping flying,
in that gust of wind
they make, landing hopping jumping or
where hurricanes sometimes become themselves
ignoring what they were but really were not,
and become their own
rainbows of colour
dancing on heavenís walls we call sky.
Angels walk when we donít fly,
and fly whether we are with them
or not. Because they are with us.
Angels are birds practicing wings in flight,
looking like birds dancing the space where
raindrops disappear then reappear. Angels
move this way. Deep inside.
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