Do angels weep, or hurt?
Do they bleed, or doubt?
Do they love like we do?
Do they know our souls?
 Up in heaven seems easy,
up in the sky looking down.
With a light eternal shining,
with their wings so pure.
 Do they feel rage at it all,
at the bloodshed, and war
and all the broken and weak
being tossed aside and ruined?
 Do they do it themselves?
Is it commanded of them?
Are they light, when life fades
and the darkness claims us?
 Are they there at all, is anything?
Celestial superheroes, or couriers
of god’s will, or companions in the dark,
or just dreams so we don’t feel alone?

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