Song of the Angels

sloppily piled high in the backyard dirt
a lifetime of possessions glow red
when distractions become an enemy
the closet doors are ripped off hinges
and shovelfuls of wasted hours burn
yet the fallen sparrow is not unseen
neither the empty whiskey bottles hid
between ears that do not comprehend
there are things the angels sing about
one day we will hear and smile again

Robert Filos is an author of poetry and short stories that combine beauty and wit while highlighting social justice issues. Published worldwide his poetry received over 40,000 views in 2017. Born and raised in The Bronx, he now resides in the South Carolina Low-country with his wife and children. He can be reached at Read other articles by Robert.