I play harps for sleeping Angels. Applause deafening, heart-hearing altering. Then I listen to Theirs.
Their visage ever calming, ever charming. Tales o’ upward peace must be true. They bow, steal my new note pairs.
I keep joining them in hopes couples stick. Each love different harmony, kiss and burning lick.
Angel has left, but always returns. The fire burns lesson in my unlearns.
Only light now, Angel peers in at odd climbs. Usually the past, to heal me with rhymes.