Domicile Of Angels Poem by Aram Stefanian

Existence is an optical illusion of our underdeveloped mind
We're unable to adjust our clocks to universal time
Vague answers to simple questions we were never to find
Why didn't souls acquire immunity to the eternal rime?

There's an obscure realm beyond life and death
Where the law of gravity is inapplicable and useless
It's the domicile of angels who don't waste their breath
A final sanctuary for the miserable and the hopeless

If everyone on earth was born to perform a special task
I wish mine was a constant battle with the Sons of Darkness
After I identified Metatron behind his skilful mask
I'd clip his 36 wings, and my essence could be endless