I dreamt an Angel came to me
With a grin and blood on his face.
Still, a tear was in his eye.
His head hung in disgrace.
He did not speak a word to me
Yet, I knew his mind.
I felt he was a part of me,
As I am, cruel; but kind.
He took me to a stair well
Leading up and down,
Splayed in e'er' direction,
As I gazed around.
Then, were lambs and goats
Battling in a field of fire,
And swine possessed of a madness;
To which I could not aspire.
The Angel pointed, with boney claw,
At the desert and the sea.
I could not choose between the two
Which one should I be.
His wisper was a fount
Of living, crystal clear
Water moving over me,
Flowing in my ear.
His fiery cloak embraced me.
It burned upon my skin.
He brought me to ground, turned me around.
The Mystery has no end.
This is the first poem I wrote that had ever been published. I was 26. I have always been really proud of it. It was lost in the bottom of my entries so I am reposting.