| The Angel’s Last Step |

I am an angel

Walking on eggshells—

Walking on diamonds.

And when I look down, I can see

Myself multiplied in their sparkling faces.

If I spread my wings, will I fly? 

Hatchlings fly when they leave the nest

And it isn’t long before they forget their humble beginnings.

They know they can only shoot for the stars.

But so too do traitors fly.

They gallop and stumble and flounder and leap and never 

Look back.

Well, maybe once.

If they’re caught.

But will I look back?

If I spread my wings and fly now, will I look back?

I am beset by a terrible choice,

And faces of agony multiply in shining glory.

I will follow the faces, for

They love me not for who I am, but for

Who I could be.

So I raise my wings and lift off,

And I know they are all watching.

And thinking. 

And wondering—

As I wonder.

I am no hatchling, so I suppose I can only be

The traitor.

Only I do not stumble. 

I leap and soar.

And I do not look back.

Not even once.

. . .

Goodbye, Father.