The angel's wings have fallen,
Guilt and love have taken their toll,
Coming from one life to a new calling,
And the heart parted from the soul.
Torn from the heart of this angel,
Dying and witnessing a morbid life,
Taken from the heart of this angel,
Sacrifice bringing more love and strife.
The falling of the sun, the rising of the moon,
The angel attempting to build up courage,
Praying for stagnation and revelation to come soon,
The fury of light, the arrival of courage.
Yet, he only bleeds from temple to the unknown,
Tears forming on the eyes of this angel,
As he reaches for her heart to make his own,
Only to find a soft white pillow of laminated hearts,
To sleep and dream of happiness and love.
This poem illustrates the various catastrophic images that composed my dream; it was written several weeks after its foundation in my unconsciousness. I remember these images clearly, though some were too strange or disturbing to allow me to form a thought, let alone place them into words. This dream distrubed me greatly, and, along with the truth of the matter, this dream made me undergo a strange, almost psychotic episode and progression. Much effort was burned in converting these images into poetry, considering the many shed tears burning through the poem itself. My tears were my effort...
