To My Wayward Sons (Supernatural Poetry)

An Angel's Introspection

Mankind is standing under my fluttering onyx wings

As I stood at the apogee of the tall mountain

How fascinating, I find, humans are.

They're my Father's creations

They're beautiful beings,

Works of art.

Watching them...

It never gets old, does it?

Their faces, their movements,

Their emotions, pain and joy alike.

How it must be like to feel,

I wonder.

Watching them...

The way they encompass themselves among each other,

The way their hearts beat in a perfect symphony,

The way oxygen circulates in their lungs and blossoms life,

The way their clever minds work,

And how their souls say otherwise.

They're breathtaking, they are

Them and this amazing little planet

Of gossamer blue and verdant green

Biding its time in a vast universe.

So why must my Father's masterpiece be corrupted?

By sin, by greed, by lust and agony,

By false ambition and wealth,

By the demons that lurk outside

And within themselves.

As they begin chasing after stars,

Yet not to let its incandescence fill their hearts,

But to steal their blinding glow

And pull them down from the sky

For their selfish, faithless satisfactions.

Why must this not be a utopia?

But then again,

That's what promises of paradise are for.

We angels can only hope until the levee breaks

That they will listen,

And believe.

In us, in paradise, in good,

In God.

Yes, humanity is indeed beautiful

But it is not perfect.

Perhaps that is what makes them so interesting

In the first place.