Sestina

The lost little Angel was fell into the urban slums Walking aimlessly with nothing but her broken wings Blossom into granules of dusts, intangible as a vagabond Her heaven plucked as the moonlight stolen, the intangible vagabond Her sanctity made her glowed illuminate those souls who ingested by the slums However flagellation in disguise filled the story of her wonderful flawed wings Trace stitches by stitches of her wings Her world plays deception in those eyes who marked her as a vagabond In fact she just an imperfect little Angel and they are the slums Rose from the slums, the wings tore the shield of a vagabond ****************************************************************** Honorable mention Introducing Tritina (a new poetry form for you!) Sponsor Andrea Dietrich