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Creative Writing

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Literature

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Travel

When The Angels Sold Their Souls - Poem.


I wondered what the angels felt like, 
whether they were often blinded by their own light. 
Could they even feel the grandeur of their skin?

Did they recognise the brevity of the space inside their halos? 
Were they able to see its reflection against the lines of their palms?

I wondered whether they removed their wings at the end of the day. 
Maybe they were hollow, 
weighed nothing?

I asked,
and the angels told me that they could not fly.
'The wings are just decorative.'

I suppose I felt sorry for them, 
for looking so magnificent but not being able to see themselves 
(or capitalise on it).

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