Tears of a Crimson Angel
[Tears of a Crimson Angel]
Angel: Your hand grasps the stagnant air,
the cool poison wind that burns
the remnants of time as poetry
echoes through the mirrors of
your dead glare.
Personality stains the raucous rain
that drowns the sweet vocals of
an endangered spirit; and even
a sacrificial crow in it’s perilous
flight never dreamed as big as you.
Man: Where does my life go from
here? This serenade of laughter
from afar is destined to crumble.
Angel: Once gain you’ve disturbed the
tears my dear, will you never understand?
Man: Words. I am nothing but to stutter
if I shall ever apprehend the power
shed from a single tear.
t.seymour
12.2.2002