broken pink angel

she withdraws into herself
an angel in a world of broken pink
from within her recessed consciousness
the pastel shadows gleam

Jesus is holding out his hand to help her
but her dark-adjusted eyes won’t even look His way

she’s too busy hiding her half-moon treasures
from the societal monsters
who guard their precious hoards of normal

no being has ever deserved her trust
so she keeps it to herself
she lives inside her mental haven
she hides beneath palmetto fronds

the hopelessness in her eyes
points to the knife in her hand

as she contemplates destrution
a meager blade of sunlight
creeps into her haven

she notices it

cast it out!
but the effort is almost too much
and the sun-sickle creeps towards her
evil, behold!
there is no hope among the dead
no hope in her pessimist eyes

but He’s not dead He is risen
He’s waiting for her to turn to Him
but angel’s too busy
quietly furious
silent rebel

the knife falls from her palm to gleam
under the sun’s greedy glare

she lives her videogame existence
a self exile
and the characters on the screen are calling
“break free
don’t be broken
break into wholeness”
she drops the controller
and picks up a book

reads the pages one by one
shadow across her face
“For God so loved the world…”
modern brutality still echoes across the screen
“…That he gave His only begotten…”
the sun is rising
“…Son, that we may not perish but have…”
she closes her eyes
and plunges ever lower into the depths of soul
who she is
that’s all that matters
not nobody else
there’s somebody else

and the knife has been found
by sun-sickle, to cut—
watch the blood—
to make her
be one of
the normal.

and just as the blade draws nearer
she takes a half step toward Him
“…everlasting life.”