There was once an angel who refused to fall
despite the sweet alluring call
He went on with his life
and death
and half-life
and all the shades of near-life in between
Unseen, but for a slight shimmer in the air
A slight breeze to rustle your hair
He remained, long after the history of the angels was written down and forgotton
still there
And gradually as the voice of temptation faded
trying to find him, to bind him
there was nothing left to remind him
That though he had wandered the fields of eternity
he had not fallen
had not let down the barriers
laid down the shield to give in and yield
let his wounds be healed.
And so as the ages passed
he came to feel
that in fact, he was one of them:
The Fallen, The Betrayers
the liars and the thieves and the animal slayers
But only because with time, the voice had faded
Trying to care for him
to be there for him
to be a slight shimmer in the air for him
to rustle his hair for him
Which remained, long after the story of the fallen angel was written down and forgotton
still there
In life, and death, and half-life, and all the shades of near-life in between.

by Tristan Withers