by Cynthia Pitman

The fallen angel,
broken,
stood alone upon the jagged cliff.
He opened his arms wide
and tried to sing the holy chord
that had been lost to him for so long.
Heaven opened its arms.
Thunder clapped.
Lightning split the sky.
The birds heard his words
and created a holy melody.
The trees bowed their branches
and offered their leaves to the ruffling
of the wind, which sighed 
a sweet breeze.
A host of angels, clad in purest white,
softened the sky and sang hallelujahs.
Together God’s world 
raised its voices in everlasting harmony
and sang the lost chord.
The fallen angel fell to his knees 
and wept.

---

Cynthia Pitman, author of The White Room, Blood Orange, and Breathe (Aldrich Press, Kelsay Books), has been published in Amethyst Review, Ekphrastic Review, Third Wednesday (One Sentence Poem finalist), Saw Palm (Pushcart Prize nominee) and others, and in Vita Brevis anthologies Pain and Renewal, Brought to Sight & Swept Away, What is All This Sweet Work? and Nothing Divine Dies.