I barely know your name,
I have seen your face,
A sorrowful divinity,
Delicate like the pain in your eyes,
Small, sweet, yet somehow broken,
The tranquil pain says so much.
Your hair drinks in the light,
And your hands hold a smooth
Grief that grows deep and kills,
Eventually you will see a poem
And wonder if you are like that,
If your beauty is calamitous,
If your rose petal smile
Cries with humble tears
When you look at distant stars,
Wether you see white doves
Of dark Ravens ,
Or even both in your sleepy heart,
You who hold the adoration
Of the blind man,
In love with shells,
You- beauty of the sorrows-
Have a sweet hole in your heart,
Love complete, body and soul,
I confess your picture is a spectre,
It exhausts my soul
And I open my arms,
Would you run to me?
Would you just half smile
And cry a tear for what will never be?
You have a divine thirst,
And your eyes carry a myriad
Of fluttering whispers,
Words that float to me,
The wrath of your being,
One day to find one another.....
The bitter heaviness of your name,
Angela....Angela...... Angela,
I whisper to broken air,
Your picture is a feast of beauty,
Yet I cannot hope for more
Than a haunted glare.
I sink myself into mortal grief,
The paralysis of you,
Angela....Angela....
You leap to life
When nothing is possible.