Shall sleep rest this troubled soul?
One of whom an angel shall not grace.
For she is far too great for the tangible to reach.
The night stays bitter
Hope, covered in frostbite,
Shall turn in ‘till the morn.
And from this cold night a new dawn shall soon arise.
Giving with it blissful reds, oranges and yellows.
But from it I shall not arise in cheer.
For an angel will stand before me
Close enough to see her beauty
But too far to reach
The want to touch is left drown’d
By the want for the angel
To be in her glory
And O! How glorious it is.
That one may never reach.
And yet this one so determined
Will still fall far behind.
“The Angel”
On the ground
So cold and hard
Staring up at the sky
So warm and free.
Feeling the feathers
Broken in pieces
Laying around
Helpless, as can be seen.
The want to soar,
The want for the past
The need for the future
Has been crippled at the seams.
Standing up
Beginning to run
To gain the speed
Is the only way to regain what once was.
It is the first step
To going into the future
It is the first step
When one’s means has been erased
“Clipped Wings”
I know, I already have a poem called "Clipped Wings" but I may retitle this one in the future (or just have two of them to confuse the hell out of people hehe)
love