We receive fairytales as if
they are welcome friends
and wave anxious goodbyes
to truthful travelers.
Where though does reality live
but beside the inspiration
of the sleepless. And the martyrs
of endless days. The hands that touch
children’s minds with pronounced sympathy.
Hope lives in the touch of words.
For what more can we say that
the angels deserve for their choices.
I am frightened to know what
the judges sentence for goodwill.
I have seen the Earth without angels,
the darkness that children find behind closed doors.
There are no hands to heal tomorrow.
There are no angels, no faith
in the dollars that speak louder than love.