Broken Angel

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My collection of angels gathers dust

long-forgotten on that shelf just out of reach

 

Each one a token of who I was and who I am

they wait patiently for a turn

 

to act as protector

to act as reminder

sometimes to act as a voice whispering in my ear

 

One stands proud

her porcelain skin gleaming

her arms reaching out toward the heavens

 

One crouches down

offering protection to the menagerie

of animals gathered at her feet

 

One seems rather standoffish

her nose in a book

her wooden body, still

 

One is broken

her chain of jewels

a bit off-center

 

Spirited yet flawed

Nurturing yet independent

Enlightened yet open to new ways of thinking

 

She’s my favorite

 

 

 

 

photo: mine

prompts: #NaPoWriMo, Silver Leaf Writer’s Guild, Pilgrimage Press

 

 

6 thoughts on “Broken Angel

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