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Raise Up Your Angels, Lord
~ and us mortals too ~
Wounded air
blood of my heart
wept for a kiss and I
fell at your feet.
I fell at your feet, Lord.
Quintessentially heartless,
you the promised lover
of Rumi and Hafez,
know nothing of love
even less of desire.
Lord, see us.
Fallen angels,
undone by your whim
for looking askance,
shed a tear or two
in camaraderie
Raise them up, Lord
your celestial singers
robbed of rhapsodies
vanish even as we
humans inherit cindered worlds,
green and gold torn asunder.
Tears fall on open mouths
of abyss and forgotten seas
our hymns stay imprisoned
by a cruel mesh of
prayers turned to metals
Your worshippers need feeding, Lord