The helplessness of angels
How do you think our angels feel about our tragedies?
The angels are cursed
Because all they want to do is wipe away our tears and comfort us to sleep,
Make us glasses of hot milk and read us bedtime stories.
But they are on the other side of a glass wall from us, frozen and helpless as we recieve and inflict the pain of our lives.
All the angels can do is sing
And hope a stray note or two vibrates through the glass wall
And touches our lonely hearts.
If I could speak to my guardian angel,
I would tell him,
“Don’t feel so helpless.
Your song means more to me than you know.”
When the world ends maybe we will both sip hot milk by the fire together,
And laugh about the long hard times.
I clink my mug against the glass wall: