One old old poem

This is an old poem. I wrote it after getting a goodmorning message(the side pic) which had a pic of a little angel looking at a flower with wonder.( i am pasitng the poem here as i hv nothing better to offer right now)

Angel of love
a littel angel woke up from the slumber
she had been sleeping for hundreds of years,
the child thought where am i ?
All alone, her eyes were wet with tears

none in the world cares for me
no one remembers a small little child
i have slept while the world has crept,
from peace to voilence, from being lovely to be wild

everyone runs from dont know what,
scared faces, faces of a still life
everyone runs for dont know what
tense faces, faces facing unwanted strife

She walked alone in this huge world,
she walked straight into sadness and despair
i am not needed , i dont have use,
i am better off sleeping than being here

and turning back she wept again
and then stopped , she had stepped on something odd
a softness strange in this age of hardness,
it was a flower on which her sad feet had trod

she picked up the flower when she was sad,
it was broken but fragrant
she was inspired when she saw the flower,
they bloom! after all this rant(useless,hurting,egoistic dioalogues that we engage into).

I am not alone, there are others too,
for whom selflessness is not just a word
i am not alone, all, xcept some humans, do
hope and want a better world

so i will sit like this flower,
and wait for that day
when some human steps on me and remembers
to end all his misery, there is a way

the way is love, love and love
not just for others but for life itself
the way is there, its for us to walk
to love this world and in this world yourself.

Yes i know its more of a muscled rhyme than the beauty and flow that a poetry has but then when did i proclaim i was a keats?