She is not an angel.

When we buried her on that strange hill,
They said, “Heaven gained an angel.”
I couldn’t help but question,
This comedic, yet pure accession.

I don’t believe people gain wings.
Or that they suddenly float, playing strings.
Don’t get me wrong, I believe in afterlife.
One of peace, one without strife.

But to say that we are strung up from heaven,
Perched like birds outside a seven-eleven,
Seems like a cheap representation,
Of our true, afterlife, manifestation.