King of Angels

Looking out a darkened window

Not a shred of light remains

Not an outline can be traced

Yet still, my heart is fain

 

To think that it might see

A fair shape looming nigh

Not part of land, nor part of earth

But reaching towards the sky.

 

Floating gently in the velvet vault

Like footprints on the mountaintop

Towering up, and jutting across

Like a staircase made of honey pots.

 

I have seen the steps before me

And I know just where they lead —

Like pale smoke from the chimney

They climb to my mighty King.

 

© C.M. Blackwood 2016

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