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It is a feeling that brought us here, the always present pull of it.

The feeling of burning deep within us, an always present demon.

The pulsing fire with the scorching flame licking up the walls of the mind.

It is the sin that darkens our souls, making us untouchable to the holy.

The ones who look down on the most human of emotions to which we are bound.

How are we to join the choir of angels in the sky when it is ourselves we cannot find?

The body is tarnished like silver in the air, and yet we stand so boldly.

Will it be in the shimmering paradise that our souls will be found?

We are the damaged beings that the angels scorn.

The pawns between the dark and light, playing pieces in their endless war.

Ripped and torn, shredded without disregard.

And where is our "God" in this time of death?

Where is the savior when we are pleading for more?

God is not there when we breath our last breath.