The bardess looks at the skies as colored deep lavender with the doves whiter than the angels wings gliding by the breeze, the eclipse of a woman's soul is now unconcealed for the higher art of all things, she feels the tension, fall, and rise of the stories of now and the ones yet to be written, searching for  messages and meanings that are as pieces of magic lingering as lighthouses in  the shades of her.

I did not quest for visions,
Nonetheless Truth found me.

Four mornings strung
I did not wake.
One does not wake
From the haunts of insomnia.

I rose from sleepless sheets.
I watched the sunrise
Sheen on angels,
One hundred perched
With crows in the trees.

I smelt coffee, bacon,
Weary went below
Where an angel at the stove
Pointed with spatula,
Sit, eat she commanded.

I sat with three holy,
Smelling sweetly of
Divine,
Three aglow, glistening
Wrapped in robes of
Light.

I was shown
My Book of Life,
Made to linger over
Acts of Love,
Page upon page
Of times I found
Courage and strength,
Was selfless and giving.

The spatula was pointed once more.
Go, sleep she ordered.

I climbed back in bed,
I tossed, I turned
Until I felt the slightest weight
Down at my feet.

His beauty was a terror
To behold,
Satan.
He spoke in such a soft lilt,

Until you learn
To love yourself,
I will always own you.

The angels come down to late,
their feathers crawling with mites and eyes flat as snakes.
turns out their wings are so white because they use bleach
They came down from the sky, but you think they fell.
The smell of ozone lingers in their skin,
and Glory Glory Glory sounds like a punchline.
They promise altars and arks;
Their prayers sound like static, stitched together from dead languages.
They hum lullabies in reverse, backwards tongues behind broken smiles.
You ask what god they serve.
"Ours," they say, as if that should mean something
Their halos flicker—cheap fluorescence trying to imitate holiness.
The light around them peels paint from the walls.
They cup your face like a blessing, but their hands are too cold, too tight.
You are not surprised when their throats are torn open,
revealed to be hollow.

Friends will come and friends will go
but here we walk, to travel home
side by side, step by step
here we ride, our thoughts in check
and the graveyard's only a mile away
and the reaper follows behind us these days
and if we had a stone each time we fell
I bet we'd have a stack as tall to climb out of this h*ll
So fly, fly little bird fly
fly fly breathe, please don't die
fly fly spread those wings, don't cry
birds are angels meant to glide, it's not your time
words that are meant to tell every story
but struggle to complete one
spoken songs that were supposed to tell the truth
when it was sung
kings will come, and kings will go
left to rule the ones who lost their hope
here they rise and here they fall
knowing that the earthquakes begin to shake what they built tall
and death is only a light year away
it seems so far, but it is getting close
and the people who follow behind as these days pass
bringing their children, mothers and loves
so fly fly little bird fly
fly fly breathe don't die
birds are fallen angels, meant to glide
here comes the messenger of light
it's not your time
here you'll listen
and here you'll die

Although I sleep so sound at night
In my mind rumbles an endless fight
Each side believes that they'll get more
Make no mistake: this is war.

In my mind, I live alone
Inside a house of cobblestone
There are no neighbors, and the fight is violent
But inside the house, it gets too silent

The thunder clashes with the ground
The demons fire off another round
Angels strike them with their bows
So round 'n' round the battle goes

Why they fight, I cannot discern
The demons cheer with each soul they earn
Lost souls gather to find their way
Falling victim, becoming prey

An angel falls, a demon dies
Such things happen when fighting lies
Each side is right, but both are wrong
Both cry out their battle song

The truth of war, the why they fight
Is sealed up in a copyright
Action stars and movie scenes
To drown out the righteous screams

An angel saves a soul at last
The battlefield feels so less vast
A total of souls saved was seven
They were blessed to get to Heaven

Angels and demons call a truce
The victim puts away their noose
For once at last, peace is found
Thus ends the savage battleground

Then the darkness comes back 'round
Just when they found their common ground
It starts again, just like before
Make no mistake: this is war.