One day, very soon, you’ll wake up to find

my angel wings all grown, embarked

on the journey to the seventh sky —

we shall meet in heaven.

What might be a regular morning

will turn to mourning.

But dear, I have grown wings — we shall meet soon.

So don’t tread without purpose, don’t be afraid.

I have embraced and welcomed death with open arms.

Death is my old friend now — I’m no longer afraid of it.

I’m going six feet under,

but I’m always six feet above, watching.

And just like that, one day, soon enough,

I’ll be gone — my wings grown, ready to fly.

It will all be a simple morning, but with a warning.

She’ll expect the usual — making waffles.

She’ll wait for me at the bus stop to get to school.

He’ll glance at the class, scanning to see why my presence is missing, then
continue with the lesson.

She’ll wait at my locker to walk me home.

He’ll be outside with my lunch.

She’ll expect me home by four.

He’ll wait for me to call.

But that day, I will have grown angel wings —

already flying away, with no one ready to save.