Soft opal feathered wings spread from its back.
It hovers there on the warm current of tranquility.
Rare. So very rare.
It is unlike any other, utterly unique.
An angel.
Angels.
Angels?
We, the artists, are compeers to the angels.
Not perfect beings but messengers, light-bearers,
Mouthpieces of the mute unseen glamour.
Multi colored auras pour from our souls like water falls
That solidify into beads of beauteous creativity.
Those wings?
Talents. Dreams. Balance.
Those things that we do, have done, wish to do.
Those wings are the life of the individual.
Those wings...
These wings...
These wings...
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