Some are my
angels
Halo’d and winged
Others my
demons
Horned and singed
These words I speak of,
these ill-fated feti,
doomed orphans on the yellowed page
Lonely and
Shawled
Wicked words can devour
the feeble and weak
as they bump into walls in the night,
sightless and
hushed
Yet there was once a vision
They once had a voice
And I am not God.
The weak make their own choice
My Wicked Words
Words appear as angels and demons, left alone on the page to choose what they become.
Loved this piece?
- What did this work make you think? Join the conversation below and share your thoughts.
- Inspired to share your own story? Submit your work to be featured in Written Tales. We’re here to showcase your voice and talent.
✍️ Submission Contributions
Your voice keeps this space alive. We accept poetry, short fiction, and creative nonfiction from writers at every level.
Paid Members → Free Submissions
Non-Members → $3 Contribution per submission
That small contribution goes directly toward editing, publishing costs, and showcasing authentic work, helping us keep this space accessible to all.