Sky wings

Feathers don't come from the sky little angel

 

Do angels feel bored?

Such innocence asks,

looking at the sky for divine inspiration.

 

I would have to think they do,

heavenly aspirations only last so long

than they float away with little girls dreams of ballerinas.

Words spoken in to the winds,

though untainted ears still catch hold of them.

 

How do they stop it?

Green eyes never leave the cloud covered sky.

Dogs, maybe cats,

lots of booze and ciggs for the soon-to-be-fallen as well,

left unsaid for a shrug of graceful shoulders.

 

Snow starts falling on silken cheeks.

Chirps of it being feathers slip out between laughter,

the moment not ruined by words

of it being to cold for feathers,

since feathers and sprites don’t fall from the sky

Author's Note

Written for the picture inspired contest