This world was not
Meant; for an angel's
Display, the angel only
Cometh, to bringeth light
In dark day's.

The angel's only
Place, is from the
Star's wherein they
Came. The angel's
Art of God, not of
The world's hate.

The angel's art the
Bringer's, the messenger's
Of life; they cometh O' they
Goeth, they leaveth by the night.

The angel's art fading
Dying in mystical wind's;
Their partially human to,
For they've indulged in
Worldly sin's.

The world was not
Meant; for an angel's
Display. For an angel
Only cometh, to giveth
Light to empty flames.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

An ashen face is who I really am
solemnity is the key to my soul
I wear the darkness like an encompassing cloak,
robes of black in the fields of gold,
selling secrets never to be told,
I hear the laughter behind my back
cackling, mocking at my disguise,
but I sing my song, a sedative reprise,
what of you and your sentinel ways ?
you'll never be me in the last of these days.