Wings
POETRY
WINGS
Do you fly the vales and hills?
Open the wings of your thought
to see the light
and majesty of Nature…
It is true, I mark you
the saying…
that men have entertained us
without knowing it
We alight beside you
Unseen
unless commanded by our Maker
to reveal
Sometimes that revelation may be
partial,
As with a touch
feather-like upon your cheek,
the palm on the shoulder
close to your neck,
ever so light
Air upon air.
Others speak of a mighty wind
Sweeping them,
as if from nowhere,
Beyond the danger that suddenly
befell them…
Our downdraught alone can shake nations
should the Powers and Principalities move as one.
But that is rare
Done only upon the utterance of
The Most High Ancient of Days
We, Their royal circle
We, the Proclamation of their Existence
Their Eternal Deity
Of Whom only Nature is privy.
On other times we will sit
and talk with you,
When you are quiet and at peace…
Wondering why that sense of oneness
Overcomes you;
That gentle touch of the finger
at the appointed hour,
That shifts your eyes to the clock
Above the counter,
quietly reminding you
your desk awaits,
It is time to get back to your work.
We are the unseen
above the battlefield.
We never engage.
Humankind would not cope
if we did.
But we do assist in a myriad ways,
Quickening your senses,
To danger, alerting.
Not often
We will even speak out a word
singular
awaking you
usually your name
just one syllable
but so powerful, so real
that every instance is marked
on the time line of your life
You recall every instance.
Like our Maker
Your Creator
We are outside time.
Thus we move the heavenlies
you prefer to think,
In reality, endless dimensions,
A million perspectves,
A billion more
And even then you touch but the perrifery.
Like you, we see the past.
Unlike you we see the future too,
No, we do
before it is unfolded…
Life’s blueprint opened up to us
sufficient to enable us to assist.
But the rest concealed
to guard against our attempting
to overcome your free will,
The directive of our Maker
The Most High Ancient of Days
The Higher
Whoever.
But here is the difference
Between you and me.
When you are in that most secret place
In communion with Them,
Not even the Great Archangel Michael
nor even Lucifer
can hear your utterances,
That communication is secret.
A butterfly flutters its wings
The hurricane thereby born
felt a lifetime later.
21 November 2025
All Rights Reserved
Liverpool and Lancashire
© 2020 Ian Bradley Marshall
First written on 26 February 2020
Not even the Great Archangel Michael
nor even Lucifer
can hear your utterances
That communication is secret
