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
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Honorable mention
Introducing Tritina (a new poetry form for you!)
Sponsor Andrea Dietrich
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