PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In light so pure once the angle strode,

Proud and strong commanding all my will

Taking love and life with out regard I gave more,

All this and more if only the angles arms would hold

And never once did I see my heart and will the angles hands steal.



For days and weeks and months to years,

Her request I followed and gave the key my soul her hands did want

That she should not want till I cried and cried dreamed I died,

And to her all I gave she drank and drunk more deeply on my tears

And in darkened hole the grave she gave I was left to haunt.



Still in light from eyes pupils black her glare my will to know,

Given soul and heart my gift just to give her life

Uncared and shared to all around,

Broken more the shell my soul to dust will blow

Bloodied hand the killing blow from crystal angles knife.



So In turning I gave even more the knife my will,

In hopes my pain would in vain prove my loyalty would not shake

Now her eyes the fix given way to other souls,

And voice called out and never I heard so great her skill

To collect again fresh from men new hearts to bend and break.



Long this lasted till I was spent and wings her back did spread

Furled no more the will to score her need to feed again

And off to flight and great my plight that now I stand alone.

The flames of pain my sorrows gain and melt away like lead

Nothing now can ease the hurt not even fall of rain.



In darkened grave now I walked longing for her hand

And like the cold I chilled the ground upon which I strode

Calling out all in vain to hope and see glimpse again

And all I heard were rumor and less of her wings over land

And doomed I sang in twilight my need that I should be free this load.



Then it came that for which I sang a sight of her again

And from her voice could be heard her calling out my name

And the light that once did blind me Seemed dead and gone a thing no more

And with that lose in mind now too began to fade from me all that is true

Like paper in flames that flake and ride away in the wind.



So here I am left less than man cold and naked in life

Empty and withered, broken and consumed

Trying to find in a world cold with hands that threaten and loom

Over head to crush that which little is left of stolen life

My will to be and fight back my impending doom.