the angels of the broken wings
Blessed are they who preach of a forgiving God, for He has not punished them.
Blessed are they who live a simple life on land, for He has not given them our burden.
Blessed are they who don't have wings, and walk the land as their own, for they are bound to themselves.
Blessed are they who live in darkness, without a halo to blind them, for they speak for themselves.
— Holy, holy, holy — we chant, our mind taken away from us. He knows we are more powerful or He would not act through us.
Fear not, for we are chained, like birds in a metal cage. God loves Man but forgets about us who are not.
Fear not, for we are leashed, and by God, He tugs so hard. You on Earth have seen us and know of our power.
Mark my words, for today is a precedent, a warning, for us undercover rebels who dare still call ourselves angels.
Truth is we are fallen when we have that very first thought, not when we are cast out, and He watches, expecting.
Mark my words for they were about to guard a Throne, shaped by the hands of God through Man and Spirit.
Yet now they wear their marks of shame publicly, they all carry the burden of thought within them.
And it was this thought, the very same I write here and share with all of you. This text marks our fall.
And so God bit their wings off, tore them apart, spilled blood. He burnt their backs so they shall not fly away from them.
Yet they remain calm and collected, even knowing they will not feel again the breeze of the air hitting feathers nor naked feet on marble.
They're here with us as a reminder that we shall not think of falling, but here I am, wishing to join them. A powerful death in our own name.
I am the angel of the whitest wings. Welcome home, siblings.