He lay there in the attic
Propped up on broken wings
Covered in dust and just
One of many broken things

He was a sorry sight to see
All stretched, worn and thin
With lines across his face
And dirt upon his skin

He laughs without a smile
A harsh and grating sound
His tone says he’s given up
Accepted that he’s bound

He seems to find some peace
Where he lay upon the ground
For where the lost things are
Is where he can be found

He is something like you
And yet he is not the same
Neither beast nor bird just
An Angel without a name

He wants very little from you
But give him that and more
For once you were like him
Only your wings never tore

Though a dream he may seem
When first found in the dust
If not in a dream then in what
Can anyone place their trust