Angel's Voice

The time for falling is over -
Except for unto Christ,
His gardens adorned with care -
Into the fire, that place
Which no other is a pillar,
Column of flames running
More and more, higher and
Highest to my master,
Through our hearts, our towns.
In this new soul
Comes the new desire of Passiontide,
That violent force repelled
By something stable, someone calm:
Two voices of men, ‘Gloria, Gloria’,
Alighting on the fallen heart;
Let the Sanctus rise up,
E Requiem ascendit,
To where Christ’s power has
A second-hand, that man, a third divider,
Fallen ones united in their Halleuia.
When, after the toll has rung off,
What remained was purest silence -
Between the Angel and the Music -
Only accentuated by cries;
A crowd of imperfections
With a hand to guide them through
Selfish haze surrounding,
And the loudest whispers
Catch my heart through my ears,
The hook left open in arms,
Acceptance as if the answer
Had been called from its tower,
To guard the unguarded,
Or to surrender or to capture,
From a Christ who knows
All things unknown;
The new elixir,
My life eternal, grateful,
And the change I let befall me -
Let it, certainly -
I will comply to what is
No longer inside affairs;
Let the Chorus call me home,
Entrusted with my sole advance,
Free me from more tortures,
Through fires in the fiery day,
With swords so high they piece the stars -
Let love, in His beauty, call,
And when it is time, I shall come.

The End

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