What an Angel’s Wings Look Like

They look like the fire that sets the woods ablaze

They sprout from small after a renowned phase

They flutter in the wind and lose their feathers

They can be purple- depending on the weather

Angels flap them when they are in trouble

His are brown and black, a couple

Of infamous instruments, tools of power

They shrink when he is nervous and then sprout like a flower

The last time I saw some, it was in my dreams

God creates them on Her own, she sews them at the seams

She says that each type of angel should have their own color

To fix them when you are mad, she says, you don’t even need to bother

The first time I saw them I was passing by one of them

He wasn’t a stranger, I would call him a friend

His were white and arced, like he was nervous

Then he flapped them, so I could see them in action, totally on purpose

My Dad won’t believe me that angels exist

Even when I tell the truth, the seeming lie persists

But I keep my hopes up, maybe one day I can go home

But until then, writing like this gets me in the zone