Chris Might Soon

Chris might soon
Lose his wings
On the way down from heaven
To the man-made realm
Of fallen angels
Struck in their flight,
Where gravity as usual
Takes its toll,
Weighing you down,
Pulling you down,
Lower and lower
Below ground,
Beyond reason,
Into oblivion.

Chris misses much
Life, but kicks no more
Neither he nor us,
Nobody does anymore.
Dislocated, disembodied,
Soulless dolls,
Each to his life,
Each to his will.

Chris, too late,
Our wings won't grow.
People laughing,
People crying,
Hugh couldn't care less.
Yet Hugh'd be adamant
On state affairs :
A helluva dreadful
State of affairs,
Full exposure.

Chris, fail not,
Blow their top,
Soar into the sky,
Defy gravity —
All gravities.
Let go,
Rise up above
Now,
Higher and higher,
All the way up,
High,
High,
High.

© La Pensine Mutine. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited.

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