Orphans with parents
Their love
Unrequited
They are runts
Neglected and Middle-Class
Defensively crass
Losses
Labeled defunct
Inert mass
Useless
We must be ruthless
They are runts
They are affronts
To the Average
Woe is he
Born creative
In a world
Glorifying
Normalcy
J.W. Dalton, USA
They’re heavy, my eyelids
Weighted and slowly closing
Chain smoked coffee breath
Acting as Atlas to an insomniac
A mind avoiding sleep as if it were death
Weighted and falling
Falling forward
Towards the lashed horizon
J.W. Dalton, USA
Angels aren’t special
Because of beautiful white wings
But proximity to the heart
With which they wrestle and sing
Angels aren’t special
Is love not everything?
Then they are ubiquitous
Fleeting
Filling our lives with love
So, know I don’t lie
When I recall this tired line
Angels are not special
You’ve been one many times
J.W. Dalton, USA
The Social Poet 