Racing the Angels

In youth, I dreamed of racing angels, flaming creatures of blood and gold,
Velvet robes brushed my cheek in the starry void, 

And paper lips spoke my name.  I actually thought I could win.

For in that indigo night, my soul was tasked with carrying safe
A bag of heart-shaped apples, simple enough a burden,
But my fear rose among the flames and pushed me past all barriers,
Strong wings beating terrestrial winds, faster and faster, 
Pressing on to glory, to victory, pushing the Earth below me, 
Beneath these beating wings, on to the pressed pages of history 
As my soul soared unto the heavens and the Milky Way beyond.

But the angels cared not for that, and 

The bag was ripped from the beginning, 

but I didn't think to look. 
These treasures fell from my grasp even as I flew beyond them, 

dropping past my fiery feet in the stardust trail 

of vapor, stargazer lilies and crystallized wishes. 

The realization sucked my spirit from the heavenly path and down
Through a draining humanity that sewed my hopes to a lowly bond where I might

Raise my eyes to heaven and send my thoughts and prayers

forevermore on the ashes and sparks of the fire within, 
Always burning, forever on fire. 

And I tend this earthly post, a wizened, grey old woman, 
as the night-cold breeze brushes my cheek

and the bitter ashes rise like snowflakes among the sparks,
And I remember dreams I've had and the races I almost won.