archetype

people remind me of angels
but someone has stolen their wings
has cut the cord
and thrown them straight into reality
where fallen angels
are blinded not by the sun
but by the polluted steam coming out
of the boiling earth
where colours are created
on the mind stuffing adverts  and addictive TV shows
but not in the corners of the richly growing imagination
people remind me of angels
who fail the flying test and never come back to it again
who lock themselves in blocked flats
on ground floor without sunlight
and dream of a free flight in the sky
someone has stored stolen wings in the museums
to remind people of their history
to make things seem impossible
when they are placed in the glass cubicles
to point out that life exists on its own
without need for the wings, flights and angels
and people remind me of angels
exploring with wonder
white stolen wings
through the protective glass
in a highly secured museums