An all-white angel approaches
A pale-armed Athena to dress my wounds
in sympathy
She cannot stray from her war
For it is what she loves,
and what she loves
is to burn
with an intensity reserved
for the start of
something new
A clearing away of
tired wisdom
Today, she runs her fingers
through my wild mind
Tomorrow, she walks alone
through sun scorched dirt,
dry as the oldest bones
Everyone is ***** and no one
can escape the dust of time
But once in a while, she lets out a smile
that makes us feel new
and clean
like her
shining
ivory
skin
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
An all-white angel approaches
A pale-armed Athena to dress my wounds
in sympathy
She cannot stray from her war
For it is what she loves,
and what she loves
is to burn
with an intensity reserved
for the start of
something new
A clearing away of
tired wisdom
Today, she runs her fingers
through my wild mind
Tomorrow, she walks alone
through sun scorched dirt,
dry as the oldest bones
Everyone is ***** and no one
can escape the dust of time
But once in a while, she lets out a smile
that makes us feel new
and clean
like her
shining
ivory
skin
Written 8-26-12. Rediscovered 2-20-12; the day I fell in love with a statue.
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