Wings

By ZeldaNut1

One fine day in the middle of the night,

Two dead boys got up to fight.

Back to back they faced each other

Took out their swords and shot one another.

The deaf cop on the street heard the noise

And he came and killed those two dead boys

While you and I are off to sleep

Two boys are waging wars

To shake they poet and the beat

One in body, the other in spirit.

Both dead just the same.

Both boys stood, one burnt, one written

Back to back.

Shaking the beat with axes

And the poet with flames.

Freeing souls long since trapped.

Both boys were rewarded for their crusade,

One, the absence of his cancer,

The other, his long awaited wings.

When you see the lick of flame, smoke, or an angels figure

Think of the two boys

The written one, alive and cancer-free.

The burnt one, who soars on angels wings.

The souls, used by the poet, corrupted by his beat.

How they are free today.

Oh, you say you don't believe this story, poem, legend?

Well, you can ask:

Goatswood, Connecticut, 6 decades ghostly service.

Matt, who is in college now, he fought alongside the boy.

The Campbells, who lived the experience, and who

Of course, mourn the loss of a dear, departed friend.

The Reverend, sadly can still be seen at Goatswood Hospital,

Receiving his cancer treatment.

And of course, you can ask the cop.

Who heard the souls shrieks.

Or the blind man, who saw it all happen?

And of course,

when you finally reach the pearly gates,

Maybe you could ask Jonah,

Who now sits on the right-hand side of God

His dark wings rustling.

-FIN-