Broken Angel


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




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