There are some souls,
(winding in and out of the frightening ages)
Who never grow old.
Chipped from the walls of heaven;
Falling, polished, to Earth.
Fragmented people,
But so much more whole than most.
Angel hearts and devil weaknesses.
(their fears drive them beneath the covers
as the Bogeyman slinks down the hall).
Wide-eyed wonder and impish smile.
Innocent by default,
They are the ones God favors;
The quiet children of afternoon.
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