Quick the armoured Angel comes, in majesty
Quite blazing up the shivering room
With a blinding incandescence
Dancing round His searing, wondrous form.

In trepidation peering, a heart so riven
My scalded, mortal eyes search His
And, seeking prophesies, I stand
Consumed in the Angel’s grace.

His feathered mail pulsing liquid gold
His wings, now furled, alive in brilliance
As chastening, illuminating my inner self
The Angel clarifies a newly burnished soul.

He reaches out to me, beckoning
Burning proud sins, I’m reckoning.