I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.

Destruction was your middle name.

Handed down, branded on your skin the day you were born. Everything you touched seemed to catch fire.

Destruction was your middle name.

You walked the earth with lead feet

The ground cracking with every silent step.

They called you a sinner because you broke the mold.

They yelled blasphemy with every breathe you took.

Torches and pitch forks held to your throat for simply existing.

Destruction was your middle name.

You held the cross and let it scorch your flesh, Penance for crimes you didn’t commit.

Praying for redemption for guilt that wasn’t yours to carry.

Destruction was your middle name but I didn’t mind.

They called me a plague too.

Referred to me as something that needed to be eradicated.

With nails through your hands,

And a rope around your neck

You still saved me.

You left the world broken, half of what you were but you are still the most holy thing I have ever seen. You’re white wings may not be so white but you were the most righteous creature.

They said your middle name was destruction but I think they were wrong.

You touched me and yet I did not burn.