My Sin
Do you hear the Cry of the Angel?
The voice that chitter chatters at my shoulder?
At the nape of my neck so chilled so thorough.
Quietly whispering through the tears, through the break of voice.
I hear her sorrow each time I open a door.
The Creak and sway of un-oiled hinges.
The shift of wind along the moors and meadows of beyond and surrounding.
I listen to the quiet sway of the creaking Trees.
The piercing cry of the banshee is heard well within the ears of the safe.
She cries at my doorstep, gently plying at the wood.
Fingernails strike grooves through oaken Lengths.
Crying wails and Lamentations shimmering through the currents.
I join the angel in her sorrow.
Whispering my recompense, whispering my Heart felt apologies.
she hears them and Prays for my life and soul.
For the Soul that has damned her.
For the wings of white are replaced by the Black.
She is a Fallen of the Graced.
She is a Dark Angel come to haunt her tormentor.
She is my Sin.
I pray one day she will forgive me.
I pray hard.
She hears my pleas to Sanctuary.
But listens to them not.
I am the Damned.
Gone from the life of the Living, and into the torment of the dead.
I am the Darkness that haunts the afterworld, always watching.
I am the shadow. The night.
I hear. But I never listen.
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