Where Have All the Angels Flown?

by Dean Friedman
 Sprawling spired skylines, sparkle in the night
 Sprinkling angel dust on everything in sight.
 In the shadows far below, nestled deep within,
 Lies a cardboard shanty town shaking in the wind.
 Huddled in the darkness, strays outside the fold
 Citizens of nowhere seeking shelter from the cold
 Where have all the angels flown?
 To their father's golden throne?
 Leaving we of merely flesh and blood and bone
 Stranded on the surface of this our fragile home.
 Kings in crystal castles, feast on fortune's fare
 While surly subjects seem to vanish in thin air
 Red ripe rivers rise on falsely fertile fields.
 While we all watch in wonder at the weapons wisemen wield.
 Friends all but forgotten; memories grow dim
 Prayers no more than whispers; sing a silent hymm
 Where have all the angels flown?
 To their father's golden throne?
 Leaving we of merely flesh and blood and bone
 Stranded on the surface of this our fragile home.
 Somewhere in some city sprawled on some factory floor.
 Tiny fingers spinning silken patterns for
 Princes and Princesses, debutantes and heirs
 Under some illusion that what they have is theirs
 Whiled tethered to their stations lesser souls do yearn
 Perchance to buy their freedom with the pennies that they earn.
 Where have all the angels flown?
 To their father's golden throne?
 Leaving we of merely flesh and blood and bone
 Stranded on the surface of this our fragile home.