The weeping angel

We watched the storm come in
From the horizon, faster
Than a bird could fly.
Cowered all night beneath its wings
Beating at our small house.

Next morning, we walked down
To see the sea, and all the world
Washed clean and new

And on the beach, we found an angel
Broken by the winds,
His wings all torn and twisted
So he couldn’t fly

My sister knelt up close,
But I held back – I am
The cautious one – and then
She said “What colour
Are an angel’s tears?” –
Holding up something
Strangely bright, as if she held
A golden penny in her hand.

And then he turned to us,
Face sorrowful and majestic
And spoke, his voice as bright
As sunlight on a window,
“Our tears” he said “Take different hues
Depending on their causes.

The soft purple of an evening sky
When we weep with a mother
Who has lost a child;
Red as a storm cloud
When we weep in anger
At the foolishness of men;
Blue as the distant sea
When our tears mingle with a
Grieving widower’s. Every
Tone and shade.

I am not weeping for myself”
He said, “But for the world.
There are too few of us,
And who will weep with you
When I am gone?”

And so we took him home –
He was so light
A child could carry him.
We smoothed his twisted wings
And fed him honeycomb
And clear clean well water –
As if he was a bird,
Or some bright insect.

And in the morning, he was gone.

13 thoughts on “The weeping angel

  1. Pingback: Poetry challenge Tears: the entries – Jane Dougherty Writes

  2. Pingback: Do Angels Cry? | rivrvlogr

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