I see in my mind, standing before me,
the figure of a beautiful women,
tall like an angel with wings spread
to shelter me beneath.
A blanket of lost love and forgotten hope
slowly drowning out the pain
as she whispers to me,
soft nothings to fall upon deaf ears.
Is this where it gets better,
where life turns around for my dying soul?
Her whispered promises open a broken heart,
new bright pain to an old wound.
I'm not ready for her whispered consolations,
for the lies of new love yet to be found.
Her defensive wings begin to smother,
warm embraces grow bitter and cold.
Stone seeps its way throughout my veins,
frost glistens on the boundaries of my iris.
Her unheeded embrace pushed aside,
a brief existence which merits naught,
another wasted angel for my shattered heart.
Natalie Gibson © May 25, 2005