Way of my soul || Poetry

XLIII. angels come with wings

I wish someone told me
that people aren't
homes
They're like clouds you
cant grasp
who slowly drift apart
they're a river that's not still
ever flowing,
ever changing
taking along with them whatever you
put in
never staying,
never stopping
they're also like the moon
different phases,
different timings
they're like butterflies
who never stay
they're always bound
to fly away
they're like water, water in springs
they come like angels
but angels come with wings