Reflective Moments

I find myself feeling reflective and thoughtful as I sit here on a snowy mid-February day. It's had me thinking about some of the places I've been, things I've done, words I've written. Over and over, I keep coming back to a couple of poems I wrote many, many years ago and thought I might share them with you. So, with that in mind, here is the first. It tells a story and has always held special place for me... 

Fallen
by: Derick JM Summers

An angel falls from the heights of heaven,
And lands in the pits of hell.
His body is beaten and battered and bruised,
His wings to torn to tell.
 
His spirit is weak and timid and sore,
As he rises to his knees.
His head it spins, when it used to soar,
As his wounds continue to bleed.
 
An angel this day has fallen,
To our unfortunate hell.
What will become of this child of God?
It is far too soon to tell.
 
Our angel is given a body,
A machine of blood and flesh,
And from his birthing forward,
Our angel prays for death.
 
But death is not a service,
The lord above will allow.
Our angel has a job to do,
From which he cannot bow.
 
Our angel walks among the men,
In the depths of hell’s own streets,
To help them with their wanderings,
And to ease them in their sleep.
 
A service paid in time and love,
Is all the Lord requires.
A service paid in time and blood,
Is all the Lord desires.
 
 
Our angel’s past is sealed to him,
A door closed firm and tight.
But every door, no matter how strong,
May still let through some light.
 
Our angel has learned he once was more,
Though he felt it all along.
His body is just a shadow,
And his soul was once so strong.
 
Punished he stands amongst the men,
Apart and yet as one.
Wondering how much longer,
Until his debt is done.
 
And so our angel teaches,
He heals and he repairs.
He hides what makes him different,
He cannot stand the glares.
 
He tries to be more human,
To understand their pain.
But emotion overwhelms him.
Is all his work in vain?
 
Man is a confusing creature,
A cheater and a liar.
His emotions draw him left and right,
He can’t curb his own desires.
 
Our angel feels a power,
The human kept within,
And against his better judgement,
He has committed sins.
 
His power keeps him different,
His knowledge is a shield.
He sees the energy around,
Which once was his to wield.
 
As one, but always different,
No matter how hard he tries.
Our angel can’t force himself,
To believe the human’s lies.
 
Emotion excuses action,
At least in the human mind.
And when they’re sought for they’re deeds,
You should listen to them whine.
 
But humans have a spirit,
You could call a saving grace,
And trapping it in a body,
Seems such a horrific waste.
 
And so our angel teaches,
He helps the humans search,
And as they close upon the goal,
He begins to see their worth.
 
Their spirits touch his soul,
And warm him deep within.
And if a touch can feel this good,
Then what’s a little sin.
 
Are they becoming angels,
Or is he becoming man?
But does it really matter,
Who extends the hand.
 
Our angel is corrupted,
By the deeds that he has done.
But with each soul sent to heaven,
He knows that he has won.
 
The circle may be vicious,
And his life might seem unjust.
But God’s counsel is his own,
So our angel has to trust.

More to follow, not sure how much nostalgia I'll put here, but I think there are a couple more at least. 

Blessed be...