Judging Angels

Ancient the sting of fiends with dried wings

These being's death sound like rings

Ain't it fresh when breaths sing?

Faded stress from great things

Slayed fits suited for flight dim

But in the light the crepid lie

Aided by slyhands that block out the sky

Proverbial blindfold over the eyes

Disturbed is all whispered words told

Sobered and tried

Yet, at a wake the laughter is at, not with

Fallen angels and their punishment

For their internal battles

When they question shit

Angered they listen

Clenched fists start to mist

And hurt fits of rage risen

Bathed in blood the calmness settles

Labeled demons and rebels

These fiends they called devils

Just survivors not hell hordes