Lou J. Klaiber

THE WAY OF ANGELS

Death

is a helicopter
flashing in the face
of time

above a green jungle.

Filth of war,
washed
by the tears
of my eyes.

The wounded
and the dead

lie
together, in memory,

forever

past time.

Both,
holding hands
and falling away.

It is the way
of angels
to travel all the paths
that lead us home.

The angels point the way.

We forget that they work
alone.

We remember………… ourselves

and only ourselves

in the darkness of wounded dreams.

When they carry us
home.