An Angel's Attire Poem by Milo .

No one expects an angel to set the world on fire
With wings once snow, now have different coverage.
She came not with song, nor the morning's sire,
But with storms in her eyes, and nothing but rage.

Paradise had laws she refused to abide,
Too much mercy, they said, but her tongue was tied.
So they cast her away with a shatter and a scream,
Yet she rose from the depths, fierce like a dream.

And when her halo broke,
Not a tear or a choke.
She gathered her pieces, jagged with disdain,
And carved the two halves with fire and flame.

Into horned she shaped them, curved and proud,
A crown for the fallen, defiant and loud.
No longer her symbol for virtue or grace,
But of the fury and fire she wore on her face.

She walks through the ashes of what had to end,
Not devil or saint, just a mould to bend.
An angel, still in her pure attire,
No one expects an angel to set the world on fire.

But she did.
And she smiled as it burned.