Let me in, slowly

A fine stroke here, a blemish there,

A need to erase a small part where,

in a careless mood you sketched a bit crude,

you need to slog for hours to draw your muse.

Rehearsals galore, a note out of tune,

another take required, you played too soon,

the melody was right, but the pitch was high,

getting it right the first few times, is impossible nigh.

A phrase stands out, another one juts,

in a hurry to make it whole sans if and buts

word jugglery will only take you so far,

for the right turn of phrase, wait for your lucky star.

Attracted to your core, hurtling like an asteroid in space,

Please let me in slowly, I'm hurting you with my pace.

Missing in Action

What happens to the angels, when they are not looking over us?

When they are missing in action, are they allowed a human touch?

Can we reverse roles and fight demons on their behalf?

And hope to heal their wounds  - even if only by half?

Or are they better left alone, to nurse their injuries in solitude,

So that in public they appear strong, and with an invincible attitude,

Can this be a reason , they appear once in a blue moon?

Dazzling with their beauty and beneficence, and imploding soon?

The angel couldn't be weak she couldn't have suffered through,

She acted like a balm, could she have needed some too?

Whenever I really need it, she just keeps popping up,

But what happens to her in the interim, in the run-up?

My angel appeared today, to soothe me once more of my pain,

and I found that when she had needed, I was missing in action again!