An individual, indivisible angel
Raises his voice out to God and
We follow with our cacophony
Seeking its ethereal path throughout
A fading existence in weathered flesh.
So a chorus erupts to fill up the small
Universe we occupy. Solitary souls adrift
Among asteroids like a comet’s wish.
We reach out for the voice to lift us.
Yet eleven… eleven voices now gone
As if Judas sought a revision of his story:
Instead of the Singer he’d take the chorus
To leave none to tell the greatest story
We’d never hear.
Could my words ever be worthy
Of the voice that reaches out
And finds God?