Halo

It could be shining; it could be golden
Why isn’t it?
An iron halo, still smoking from the welding
Rust and corrosion will claim it
Angels will laugh
Remorse does not make an acceptable halo

There is no inner light, only that reflected
Dully and dim
Even the crows have no eye for it, it hangs
Low and unremarkable
A useless contraption
It should be shining; it should be golden