The Trouble with Angels

MATURE MATERIAL

A Writer's Soul

The trouble with angels, my dear,
Is the question; how hard have they fallen for you to find one? Trapped on Earth
Down, down, down they fall. Losing their grace with every wilted feather,
Stranded with only the knowledge of something better, trapped,
Within the bounds of heavenly law, only to find temptations all around,
Oh darling, that’s immortality, wrapped pretty in red and around every corner.

The trouble with love, my dear,
Is the thoughts and emotions that complicate a complex feeling.
To give myself away with so little a risk I thought I’d once take,
But the fall from grace and how easily the unforgiving were cast out,
Makes me think otherwise. What a silly feeling love has been known to be.
If love is suppose to be a nameless, beautiful divine thing,
Why are we all damned for fighting wars over her?

The trouble with you, my…

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