Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.



I’m dreaming of a metal cage.
A bloodied angel caught, hanging
over me – unscathed but screaming.
His life rains it’s final hour and . . .

I am trapped and I can only
watch the light from his ashen eyes
pale. I reach to comfort when sharp
blue shouts take control; hopeful, but . . .


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This entry was posted on April 23, 2016 by in Poem, poem of the day, Poetry, Will Vigar and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , .
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