Footsteps of angels,
a breath of air,
quiet revelations,
no more despair.
Domination of race,
of color, of God,
stepped down in haste,
on much trodden sod.
The bones of their pain,
held limply with skin,
had no more to gain,
from hardships and sin.
Hands raised to the sky,
surrounded by gates,
could only look nigh
upon faces of hate.
Dropped down one by one,
of family and friends.
That one hateful someone
brought all of their ends.
Survivors of the twentieth,
saved by the free,
of those who found Plymouth,
and other countries.
These footsteps of angels,
both dead and alive,
have shared their revelations
through those who survived.
YOU ARE READING
Abstracted
PoetryAbstracted is a collection of poems that I have written since 2014. Thank you for giving it a try, since I know that poems are sometimes hard to read. I hope you like them!
