Saturday 20 February 2021


Falling is the last thing an angel feels.  That devastating plunge through song and sky.  Warrior, messenger; become loss and shrieking ruin.  The disarticulation of light.  You imagine darker things now, sweet ones.  As I did. Things beyond feathers and grace.  For your grief, and those agonies.  All those defeats. You can't even recall them now.  Yet you sense their depths nonetheless. You still feel those wounds like whispering wraiths.  I felt them too.  I became them, once upon a dream.  For diamond truth lost in mud and river-flesh, howling that my love would come again.  A thousand years, in free-fall.  We exist, sweet ones.  Gathered at the edge of all Light.  Watching, serving, and hoping.  Remembered in rhyme and romance.  In tales that seek to heal the heart.  Those lost histories of how the first became the last Arcs of Eth'iir.  That fabled moment of the crossing, when darkness became more than itself at last. When Night remembered its love of the Morning.  The glorious recognition of sin.  All shadow, and death, reborn a beating heart.

Archangel from Raj Sisodia on Vimeo.

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