Like everyone,
There's an angel on my shoulder.
However,
Mine does not have a beautiful name
Not like Castiel or Micheal;
Mine has a different name,
Her name is:
Asriel.
She is not the nicest;
Her wings are charred and black,
Her eyes are dark as coal,
Her fingers covered with ashes,
And her blouse is tainted with blood.
She is a fallen angel,
For not reason that is bad.
She fell from Heaven because
She blieved whole-heartedly this:
'It is okay to follow other religions.
The world should not have to Christian.'
And I agree,
No wonder I am me,
I love the angel on my shoulder,
And I love the way I see.
When I die,
I don't want to go to Heaven,
Where all the Christians go,
I want to go to Summerland,
Where all the Wiccans go.
I want to meet people who were like me,
And the angel on my shoulder
Will guide to that sea
Of green grass and perfect wonders.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry By Me! (Morgan, he/him)
PoetryThese are poems that I write. My pen name is Morgan, so call me that! Also, I use he/they pronouns and love to write. Please, if you find any you particularly like, let me know in the comments! I plan to publish some of this in a book, just need to...
