Written by: Frank F. Atanacio

He looked at the child on the ground,
the night quiet, no sound,
child shot in a needless crime,
as his hands tingled as if frozen in time,
he leaned forward, his pale skin beaming,
his sympathy fell hard,
his emotions, streaming,
his fury, steaming,
his reality, dreaming,
he made no effort to make
his physical demeanor hide how he felt,
it was no mistake,
death brings,
a failure to receive wings,
he was the Angel assigned to protect the child,
he snapped,
and held up a restraining hand,
now trapped,
and no longer can he demand,
so forever earthbound he’ll stand.