The Vision of Her

She descended slowly,
A vision of grace, simplicity, and innocence,
Marking her aura with promineneces
Captured in the lilt of her gilded wings.
The delicacy of a cloud,
Spawned from the heavens' wake,
In dramatic, yet dulcet advances,
Her gliding movements, like Fall's first departure.
Ethereal in her beauty,
Poised to make known her coming,
Not to all, but to one most unworthy.
Her inclinations disclosed to none;
Her wings spread; her arms accepting.
At first touch I am enlightened
And brought to crumble for my delusions;
Yet I choose not to see
And stay my path, blindly.
The memories that linger still
Of a time most despised yet not wanting to forget;
For to forget is ignorance
And from my past I must learn,
To break the stigma and free myself of the guilt;
The guilt she forgave so freely.
She teaches me to love, and be loved.
And at this I am still an infant suckling at her milk.
How often I feel a failure at such an endeavor,
But, my ways they are with my years.
And though I try, I do sometimes digress,
But, this vision stays with me,
Through all, even the weakest of moments.
My understanding not to be of my world
For she brings unto me a world of rebirth;
Her world for me to make my own,
To accept as she accepts my being;
To return all that was obtained,
Through her patience when I failed most.
This vision . . . this Angel . . . my Angel;
She comes to me, though undeserving I am,
But, I am thankful and accept
Her breast to lay my week and tired soul.
A bosom of the softest down,
Supple and exchanging not for want in itself,
But, giving freely of its virtues . . .
And there I do find my peace,
At the breast of my Angel.


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