Angels or Angles, two routes to receive.
You can dream and toil alone for 50 years,
But the formula to succeed
Takes an angle, supplemental or obtuse,
A new slant, a new acuteness.
A slice into a closed circle, a new area to hear.
The angle will never fly without a wingspan
Of graceful feathers, someone to draw a line
Between A and B, between here and opportunity.
An angel to link your peace through the inner circle,
A criss-crossing mosaic, colored by press and media.
A stained glass of spirit-lifting help. “Hear this! Here this! ”
A pressure point of hope locked against an infinite line.
Cupid’s arrow transversing space
Looking for someone to receive the love,
Pierce her depth, know her view.
A sideways glance, a tilted ear.
Lean in with buttress support, “Hear this! Here this! ”
My muse needs a lift, sounds and ideas echo
In revelation inside my thoughts.
My muse needs a catapult to take my voice
And bisect Fate’s ceiling, “Hear this. Here this.”
Mary Talbot Fee,3-21-09
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem