Sometime last April
By Eric Johns

Sometimes, Angels have to go back to heaven.
It isn't sadness that I should feel for having met them and lost their company.
No sadness should come from miracles.
I should raise my head up and be thankful for the times.

But my head is hung low.
Heavy.
My heart would be too, if I could feel it, it has succumbed to entropy.
My body has no need to continue this unwinnable fight.

But still no wings that I may join her and her host.
So I wait.

Tomorrow, perhaps, I'll wake up.
Perhaps not.
Just the same.
There was a message in her voice but I missed it.
Her beauty was too great and it screamed over her words.

The mistake I made is the same everyone makes.
We keep missing the voice.
That is why my head is hung low.

Sometimes, Angels come to Earth.
But those times are far too few.
We need more of you.