Olivia Cooper, Writer

As the sun slowly begins to fall,

More lights begin to rise.

Voices originating from nothing begin to call

Calling out lies into the darkness.

The voices fail to notice the pitch blackness,

It seems.

Calling, calling, calling,

Yet these emotionless voices receive no answer.

“Where has she gone?” one asks the other

“Has the angel fallen?”

One voice after another

They’ve stopped callin’,

Seems the angel has fallen.

“What shall we do now?” the voice still lacks emotion.

Nothing can be done.

“Maybe she will hear our chords”

The angel has fallen,

She has fallen as a leaf falls from a branch,

As a star falls from the sky,

The angel has fallen.


“Soon, resonate our chords”

The now fallen angel stirs.

“Our voices are similar to swords.

Let us slice the angel’s wings,

Let us dye them black,

Let our lies reach the angel’s ears”

The fallen angel sighs as she wakes,

She doesn’t notice what has become of her.

Though, even if she did, she would not care.

The voices are satisfied,

They return to their void.

It is too bad,

The angel has fallen.