high altitude halls
hard to breathe for the healthy
half-angels people
nothing left but eyes
graphic like the soul’s portrait
alabaster skin
they wander on air
hover above disaster
such force in weakness
above the chaos
plastic woes of everyday
half-men half-angels
rise in solitude
the bread of life on their palms
souls look into mine
Sasha A. Palmer
written for The Sunday Whirl
today's words:
