Wings
It happened on a beach near Savannah,
An unnatural odor on the wind;
A crime spree that started in Montana,
Abruptly came to a violent end.
The killer’s body fell limp in the sand,
His spirit released with his final breath.
An angel appeared and held out her hand.
A fate shared by all, confronted with death.
She led him away with wings made of light,
He followed her lead, ignoring the smell.
Into a domain of stygian blight,
Eternally bound by torturous hell.
Beware the angels that wickedness brings,
Never forget...even demons have wings.
Copyright © Mark Spencer | Year Posted 2011
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