MJC (1/27/92 / Edina, MN)

Angel Song

Angel song,
angel pose,
human pain?
These angel wings
crumble at the
touch of man.
On this pedestal
she sits.
Awaiting-
longing-
for that one
which she doesn't
crumble for.

Fair skinned,
eyes like
personified innocence,
golden drops of sun for hair-
the epitome of
perfection.

And her angelical whim
runs through my veins.
Somewhere.

She sees,
she finds,
she has-

she loses.

And his touch
crumbled these wings
like weakened stone;
she didn't see Hell
rocketing towards,
didn't see it coming
to its end.
All she saw was
the demise
and after the fact.

Her pedestal oldened,
she sits below,
and her tears burn
as she sings her
dreadful, mourning
angel song.

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