Distant notes and scrawls

And when the angels fell to earth their gifts came delivered by a curse
The heavens offered by not much more than slight of hand – all hoped for built on sand
Looking up for that to be believed – I wait for my time to fall
So I wait and wait my time to come, turning around to wash in sweet recall
Through births and deaths and tall regret, I swim through my stumbled falls

Then a breath so deep inside it blinds and trembles to the core
Arrived, arrived, I am here… I am here
Now, I have a voice… my distant notes and scrawls.