The Angels Cry

Dark the shadow, moving among us as a thief, Deftly slipping its thin, spiny fingers Deep into those hearts not yet strong Tugging almost effortlessly at the soul within That knows not, the light, the bright salvation. For only a small step towards the shining star Would summon the angels to battle, Fierce, cunning, strong, they fly to their call. But, alas, though a small step, a deep, endless chasm For one so lost, so tortured...so alone. The others watch yet do nothing to stop The growing vastness of nothing, Suckling all life, all hope from where it feeds So simply, with hardly a protest or fight, not even a whimper; Only abandon and sadness, regret and loss. Yet in the distance a soft and gentle song trumpets in the wind, Calling back the lost and weary souls forgotten, Calling them all back, aching for their pains and sorrows, Offering a choice if only they would hear. Closer and brighter, chasing shadow back into the night. The endless battle surely bringing victory to one Yet, we watch and do nothing, and the angels cry out Their frustrations and despair, and with prayers that man will take That step of faith, opening their hearts as all who hunger for the light, May find salvation and end the nothingness that grows.