PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The Mask Made of Glass (An Angel's Decent)

By: Matthew Wayne





Oh hell, I thought to myself. On more than one occasion I sat pondering all the aspects of what was told to me hours or days before. A future I thought I could only reach in my dreams, but here I was being feed the very desires I sought so desperately. Simple wants, yet complexity in their nature to obtain. Most spend their lives chasing their dreams and often die before realizing them. Some give up before they are manifested real. The Universe is complex, It's pattern chaotic yet accurate. I have often questioned if I had fell in love with the idea of my angel, or was it truly a miracle I had found someone who fit me. Of course writing this now, in hindsight I should have known better. Yet blinded by the idea and the passion alone caused me to abandon all rationality towards the whole of the situation. I wanted to believe for one second that I had stumbled across my paradise, like a child lost in a hedge maze, finding the locked door that fits the key in their hand. Shambhala, My mythical utopia.



“Looking up from the depths of hell, I witnessed an Angel who fell

yet even with broken wings, through her lovely voice she still sings

Taking my hand she whispered in my ear, of a paradise oh so near.”



Here I truly thought an Angel landed before me, whispers of far off places and fine satin sheets, liquid gold to the ears of the helpless. Passion engulfed my eyes, and before long I was lost in the fantasy that was my own undoing. So bad I wanted to believe it was real, and so I told myself it was. Played the game and by the house rules. My three kings were no match for slick eye's of the royal flush. So as I sat and watched them wrack up the winnings with a grin on their face and a nod from the pit dog, I cocked my head and shoot a sly smirk. That would be my que to leave.

Its all a game, a ride, Chance. The fate we make by the footsteps we take this moment, and its all a risk, from the very large to the very small. Was I wrong to play my hand? Took the ride? If what I knew then what I know now, would I have still went all in? I can tell you from personal opinion, that even if I were to have held back some chips, the ride would not have been as intense as it was. The faster your heart beats, the quicker the blood rushes. All chemicals, all endorphins. All rushing through you like a tidal wave.



“So many sacrifices made, in this quest for love,

from the pits of hell, I have watched an angel fly above”





So, the main question I could ask myself here and now is, is it still possible and even practical to call her an Angel. On one hand what she had done to me there is no excuse for. Then on the other I cannot deny how I felt about her. So I will answer that question with a surprising yes, for a morbid sense of the reason I did and still do consider this succubus an Angel, If I never see her again I am sure there is another angel flying out there somewhere, over head. Just have to keep your head held high. Will I always love her? Again I will have to say a surprising yes to, I have been told on many occasions that I am a rather stranger person, but that is simply their mind's way of rationalizing me in my complexity.

So where ever my Angel has flown to, I wish her well in her journey and hope she gets to her destination. As for me I still have my eyes set to the horizon, and I see some good things coming my way, It will be a rocky path, but the adventure will be that much more interesting.



“And now I dance, A struggle for another chance

where salvation shall never be within my grasp

fighting a losing war, As my soul shall be claimed last”

(My Journal) - August 7,2009