Blessèd Bolide

Poem about a falling angel

A halo of pure gold
Catches the sun.
The falling star carves a lighted path across the heavens.
Mortals watch, all but reverent.
Gates of pearl
Fall away.
Wings unfurled
Burned away.
Fields of flame,
Souls aflame,
So many
Crying out His name.
The sun sets
with one last glint of gold
on the forsaken of the unbegun
as the Mother reaches up, and
Catches the Son.