Praying With Angel Hands

The wind blows cold outside
Yet it is warm inside
Inside me as well
I cannot let the wind creep
Unchallenged into my middle
Full of promises, all denied
Full of hope, all contained
Listening to the waves of echoing laugher
About what might be, what may be, what could
Be.

Just Be.
Be.
I am.
Quiet.
My hands touch soft
In front of a closed off
Face. My wings open
And the angels lift me home.

by Charlotte Ballard

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