Some people flirt with the demons,
having a conversation, slaps on the back,
thinking it’s cool or neat,
for me there’s too much quicksand to visit,
squirming worms under a damp rock.
I’ll stick with the good angels,
breathing into me, like air from the coast,
showing me the sky, sending me further
into the woods.
Give me a good angel with a broken wing,
now there’s somebody I can relate to,
and we could talk for hours,
maybe even bring some healing
to this crazy world of ours,
as we look out,
over the ocean.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2015, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“When we love people, we give them hope.”