PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I remember the first time I met her.

The angelic figure of perfection and grace, complete with wings made of tarnished gold.

I remember the whirlwind of emotions

The longing, the joy, the sweet ignorant bliss.

However, there was something more that came to me.

The fear.

I didn't notice it at first,

Subtle notes in the the symphony that was the two of us.

With time however, the subtle notes began to overtake the beautiful sounds

into a storm of choas, confusion, and fury.

My angels golden visage began to darken and the void in my chest grew to engulf my soul.

The seperation was not in any way clean.

Like a botched execution, a slash from a dull knife.

The following months can be described in varius shades of gray.

Eventually, colors began to return

And with it, the pain dulled and faded.

Relief began to wash over me as the end.

I didn't notice the shift at first;

As I began to creep my way back into my bad habits

Along with it the pangs of that all to familiar instict;

All was not well between us two. Other then the hate and the day of silence.

The Child, no matter how beautiful and innocent,

Didn't aid the situation in any regard.

It was with a heavy heart that I let her be taken from me

As she was being held by a man. A nameless man of gray

Whilst standing with an agent of doom

With golden wings and vile words.

Despite this, we begrudgingly kept in contact.

so, I merely dismissed anything could be unsound,

With that smug aloof persona I'd carfully groomed.

After all, last time we spoke,her words had become so frigid

She spat icicles in place of insults.

I merely dismissed the silence, until I received that frantic call

The driver had fallen asleep at the wheel

And with his brash decision to press on and outrun the sandman,

He

    Never

        Noticed 

            As 

               He 

                 Drifted 

                    Off

                      The 

                         Road,

                            Rolling

                               Down

                                  Into (SLAM)

                                  A tree.

There would be no open caskets at these funerals,

As the ire of the sandman failing to make his claim had kindled a flame 

That snuffed out the fires of life within the three.

The Gray Man, The Blackened Angel, And The Child.

I could only sit, dumbstruck as the minister drolled on and on.

I sat and absorbed the lessons, searing them into my psyche.

No matter what we think, Love out weights Hatred.

And, more importantly:

The smallest coffins weight the heaviest.