when your angels can’t sing
it’s late in the afternoon
shadows stretch toward the river
covering its rocky banks with a
thin layer of geometric trickery
I find myself at the edge
standing calmly yet powerless
visualizing what changes must be made
to continue on this journey
opportunities run rampant
ubiquitous as the setting sun
brave and polished and callous
I pick one or three out of thin air
courage is overrated
or so I try to tell myself
lifting my spirit above my body
if only for a moment in time
june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
When your angels can’t sing you must have done something very dreadful. Atone and restore the melody.
Isn’t that the truth, Carl. Thanks for reading and commenting on this one.