The Angel's Musings
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Once the scribe upon a ship, Valtameri has somehting of a gift for writing. As such, she keeps a volume with her, writing random thoughts, tales, etc. within it. These are some of the things collected with in.
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Feathers trailing over cracked stone
A shattered Sheraphim, torn from the edge
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Time fades, never ending into the distance. We watch, wait, gazing with
glazed eyes as everything passes us by. Love, hope, redemption, nothing but
empty dreams of a forgotten heart. Meaningless words whispered in the dark
to tell us there is some point, some salvation. But even those things we
think we cherish only slice us open, carving out another part of our soul
for their appetite. Nothing can hurt more than love, and nothing can hate
so deeply...
In the end, what does it matter?
Just let the rain fall, wash away these tears I couldn't weep
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Blood...is it all this life is based on? The lifeflow, the pulse of society...it's all that matters to some....But others...
We strive on the bloodstains...coating our skin...
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Unheld by the love of God
A touch of sin, a taste of flesh
Sheltered by the Shadow
It is an end
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Crystal draped eyes
The pain of the betrayle
Worped wings ripped from her back
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A broken dream, cradled in
Broken quills, splintered plums
Draped in curling crimson
Sliding from twisted finger joints
And slipping from the Light
Too pure, too clean
To carry that gleaming facade
Blend it with the blood already staining these hands
And wash this brow of the guilt
Nothing will ever clean away...
Forgotten by the world
made to honor her image
Fragile wings, melting into trails
of wax, obscuring the Light
Temptation is too great
when it is all you desire
An abandonment of hope
A leap from the lion's jaw
and a surrender to the Dark
Healed in drapes of stygian
Wounds bound by blackness
and embraced with Dark purity
A forgotten chapter, cut before its time
and lost to the future
It is a beginning
A passage creaking open
to an epic life...
frozen tears,
stilled before they fall
drowning beneath a wave of
the anguish of pure joy
leaving scars of their prescence
Bloody bones trapped in crimson
etched with littered feathers
carved into her skin
with needles so fine
only Darkness could wield them
the maw of never-ending night
Wire stitches curled through
tainted skin, drawing together
wounds of an age
to mesh in crimson touch.
Endless hopes, brushed against one another
striving blindly for some embrace
to restore an empty truth
but only finding another life
of glass shards
slicing into skin
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© LKW
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