The Fallen Angel

The Fallen Angel

She was but a child,
born into a world
of avarice, caprice, and greed.
And as she grew,
she was naught but a shadow upon the land.

In youth she was scorned
for her differences,
for her inability to belong
to any one place in time.
And because she was marked
by a brand upon each shoulder blade,
she was distinct in her divergence,
holding her aloft from even those
who might have understood,
and who might have embraced her
for her own uniqueness.

So she stood alone
and walked alone,
belittled, disparaged, and reviled,
as something tainted,
a loathsome abomination
to be shunned and ostracized.

But on a day, much like any other,
as she bore the insults and taunts
in humility's grace of silence,
something changed within her,
something transformed within her,
and out of a creature of shadow,
ascended a radiant light,
a beacon which called to one and all
to turn and look upon her,
for the brands which had marred her skin,
had become unsealed,
pouring light into the world
where only blood should have flowed.
And from those embittered wounds,
arose feathery wings of celestial wonder,
the likes of which could only be sought
in the realms of dream time splendor.

But as those who had once shunned her surrounded her,
to gaze upon her divine beauty
and partake of her transcending essence,
she solemnly and sadly shook her head.
And with one final look at each of them in turn,
a look of sheer disappointment,
she rose into the heavens,
leaving behind those who were desirous
of something full of grace
and yet beyond lustful grasp,
with an ethereal lesson in humility and respect,
for what is given in the shadows,
when there is no divine illumination,
is equal to that which is received
upon the heart's ascension into grace.