Sacred Wings of Atrophy

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Massive Attack “Angel”

broken wings heal
whence our scars be revealed
once we tender our hearts with permission to feel
every end has a start
recommissioned appeal
only then can we advance
chart a course
tapped in morse
uncapped by remorse
with the vision and steel
to still envision that arisen
from our willing precognition
in rendition of transmissions
as explicable as real
deemed medicinal
to broken wings that heal
whence wide open
and with hope
scars be revealed

hurting for answers to questions addressed
to the rest of us unquestionably defective from the best
with the burden of perspective
every version of events is irrespective to the furtherment of senses misdirected
higher learning is effectively
observed from introspective means
concerned not with the here or there
eternally well versed on the between
seen and heard and felt and tasted
not a single scent trail wasted
simple yet in no way basic
whence the leaves fall
elevated
broken wings redecorated
underpinned with faith that destiny need not suggest that we be fated

broken bones enthrone the flowers grown from knowing april showers
teaching spring to groves and bowers
reaching in
bestowing powers
sink or swim
we drink it in
if only to veto the doubters
slowing heel to toe
in hope that unbeknownst they won’t reroute us

out of bodies
minds can breathe
out of office hours redeem
thoughts allotted crowned esteem
spotted in the boundless streams
not in bid to ground our dreams
arousing deep suspicion
once we tender hearts that bleed with ceaseless precognition
feel relieved to differ from the stiffest of our breed
be profound in wisdom and the fittest to proceed
guaranteed the richest yield
reaped of coefficient fields
broken wings are swift to heal
whence scarring tissue we reveal

need not muse on a view to a kill
feel bemused as vital fluids freely spill
bitter pills we swallow
need not leave us feeling hollow
for todays may be grave
but there will always be tomorrow
drowning sorrows begged and borrowed
we can hold our breath
for life is what we made it
whence we favoured it to death
blessed our wings with something as explicable as real
scars are our permission
to reveal
that even whence forbidden
we still feel

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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3 Comments

    1. So glad this resonated. We all have scars and they are always beautiful. Glad this touches on personal journeys as I truly believe we have walked the same path, in so many ways. And thank you for always seeing the magic behind the verse.

    2. So glad this resonated. We all have scars and they are always beautiful. Glad this touches on personal journeys as I truly believe we have walked the same path, in so many ways. And thank you for always seeing the magic behind the verse.

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