PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

One hand is put out in front of me, the other desperately trying to shield my face from something that I can only identify as sharp and painful. I'm half bent over, A scream producing no noise but strong amounts of terror slips past my cracked lips. Through my bleeding fingers I see a thick, deep grey, fog swiftly rolling forward, closing the gap in front of me. It's ominous with a bone chilling cold wind, it emits the sweet smell of decaying flowers. I'm on my knees now, defeat finally breaking me, eyes empty of unshed tears; this is the end I think. Raising my heavy head I see a figure gliding to me through the plume of increasingly dense fog, I start to scream again, but recognition soaks in as I see the angel standing before me and it shrivels in my throat. He takes my hand, my beautiful being of mercy; I think he'll make me better. Instead he absorbs everything I've ever felt, ever will feel, leaving me a cold, pliable shell on the hardened earth. I stare at the stars as he glides away; He takes the fog with him, my beautiful being of misery. Gone but unforgettable.