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Peering through crystals along the palm lined
Avenue of Angels, stretching endlessly
In a parallel universe serenaded by unheard
Choruses of lost newborns ripped from their
Mother's wombs through no fault of theirs,
Nor judgement of their mothers.
Resentment, anger or any form of avarice
Does not exist on this beautiful avenue.

Tho rain does fall on this particular evening,
Darkened skies glower; not yet willing to relinquish
The pitter-patter of little feet nor the innocent
Laughter of unborn children.

Our living exhibit (the slow dimension we inhabit)
Demonstrates immense capacity for
Estrangement from any compassion for these
Lost souls, even as Angels welcome them
With gifts of everlasting love upon entrance
To their glorious avenue; unaware of their
Own mortality that will someday 
Beg forgiveness at this same aperture
To the

Avenue
Of
Angels



Palm Sunday Morning
3:30 am
03/29/15

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