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Angela

I see smoke and shingles in the smothered light,
because this roof is the darkest path I can use to hide.
I pass by gables to a roof higher, the studio's
dorm window marked with the history of some past
by the green glow of small wood shutters
skirting a past consciousness gone now.
Angela is crying in the room inside where
the long curtains dribble in the light breeze,
the sad sounds she makes fills my mind with
consolation for her and again I'll take her
in my stronghold, hug her gently, and then reassure her
her time best spent is when she is loving me.
She will go silent then start to sob as
her wind comes back to shiver out her bad choice.
How bizarre it seems as I tap the frame.
The strain in her throat pumps out anxious shrieks,
and nearly choking on the words she summons me
my heart is as helpless as a crushed mourner
crying over solemn graves of yesterday's loved ones.
A helpless situation we find our selves in.
Lovers forever against the grain of reality.....