Death Angel
Waking from the lost world of chaos.
Still stained from Gods commands.
No soul, just a pounding heart.
With blood still on his hands.
Just an angel on the shelf.
His eyes are solid white.
Mirror image, only beautiful.
Hiding hatred, black as night.
Behind the silence he is deadly.
Every angel has his place.
Bound by laws of old.
The one displeasure of his race.
Bloodthirsty and unstoppable.
Each time he is set free.
His only thought is blow the horn.
So then I can be me!
By Keith L. Smith
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