“Angels’ Wings” — a poem about death and beyond

Many years ago when a woman I knew died, I wrote this poem. I didn’t really mean to write it — it just sort of weaseled its way into my head, and I fiddled with it and decided to write it down and share it with others who knew her. Her pastor, a friend of mine, read the poem to her congregation the following Sunday.

She died fairly young, this woman, in her 30s.┬áNobody saw it coming. She was a sweet person, the kind of woman that everyone likes even if they aren’t particularly close to her.

Anyway, I ran across the poem while looking for something in my files, and decided to share it in the hope that it will provide comfort to someone.

.

Angels’ Wings

.

She woke one day with angels’ wings,
and cried.

“So much of life I did not live!”
she sighed.

.

Her broken mortal body
lay there, cold.

She held the hand,
a hand not yet grown old.

.

“Why have you come so soon for me,
my Lord?

I know not why you struck me
with your sword.”

.

She heard a voice within her head,
serene:

“You think my fetching you to me
was mean?”

.

“Your life on Earth was but a launch
of sorts,

on a voyage that will show you
many ports.”

.

“I loosed you from your moorings,
set you free,

that you could come
and sail the deeper sea.”

.

“It but remains
to let your body go,

and open sails
to catch the winds I blow.”

.

With that the voice grew silent
in her mind.

She gazed upon the body
for a time.

.

An understanding found her,
by and by.

She spread her wings and raised up
toward the sky.


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