Four fairies were dancing
in the sea of summer's night
by a seabed of roses
and jasmines of delight

I, nonchalant
was gazing at the waves
when the westerly wind
brought me a whiff of her scent

a castle of emerald green
with angels at its gates
its courtyard with daisies
swaying in the wind

I, in my dream
was floating along
when I saw her in the moonlight
lost in my song

the fairies then led me
to her castle in the sea
lit in a haze
by moon's milken rays

I saw her by the pond
with geese splashing around
and a swarm of darting bees
feasting on fragrant white lilies

Lest this melody's green  fade
in autumn's yellow glare
Lest my dream wither
in winter's barren despair
The fairies who blessed me
my soul's last prayer;

‘To the distant horizon, these verses fly
forever live, beyond the deep blue sky’

My tired eyes wander down the dark and lonely path.
I close my eyes and pray I haven't caused God's wrath.
I try to make out the twisting and writhing figures I see as I walk past.
They're my inner demons torturing me and they tell me I won't last.
I plea for the angels to help me and wrap me in their wings.
I yearn to see them at work so I can see what goodness brings.
I need a light to shine in the darkness in this forest of this hate.
I hope one day the angels come before the demons decide my fate.

I bow my head.
We sing in memory, songs that he loved.
I look around, everyone's in black.
It's like a big hole swallowing me,
And I can't get out.

I hear ladies sobbing, babies crying,
And faint screams in the distance,
Everything is blurred.

I smell fresh flowers and old women's perfume.
I feel the urge to scream, to scream as loud as I can.
To scream at the top of my lungs,
"Please don't be gone".
But I don't.
I keep it in, repeadtedly resciting it in my head.

I look around again,
Everything's gone.
It's just me, alone at his grave.
It always was, and it always will be.

They say that he talked to Angels,
And maybe I do too.

I can see you with your wings
    That the Angels gave to you
        I can see you with the scars
         in a crimson shaded hue

    I can see you have your wings
           I think I always could
       You always were an angel
          I thought you understood

        I can see you flying high
     soaring eagle scout from God
         gliding past my house
        with a fluted piping nod

         Soar out to the glaciers
       to the highest angel nest
  you've earned your lovely wings
    just like Michael and the rest

        I see you have my wings
     They're waiting in your hand
        a song for me you sing
         so glorious and grand
     it's almost like you planned
         your hourglass of sand
             was running out

        you see I have my ring
         my angel from above
    and while you have your wings
        My finger wears your love

       One day I'll take wing too
         to heavens gate I will fly
         no longer burning pain
         no longer tears to cry
                    until then
          we have this love

   those wings will have to wait
       I already tried to ask
    no answer came from Fate
   shaded feathers my love basks

       I hope you take your wings
      and fly places you want to go
          So when I get my wings
         those places you can show
         our destiny you'll know

until then....prepare a place for me.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Between the two endings,
To her, Hell wouldn't be the lesser choice,
At least she knows it's always gonna hurt,
The demons are always gonna lie,
All of them will stab her back,
And they won't even try to be sincere.

Knowing that they are who they are
It wouldn't hurt that much,
Than being hurt by the masked angels,
with their tainted wings.

Perhaps hell wouldn't be so bad.
And maybe that's why she finds comfort in hell.

-HIY

this is the godless territory of lesser
beings,
or so i’ve been told; wingless movement,
serpentine
against mosaic tile, bellies cut open by the
sins
of man– such a pitiless misfortune of unkempt
pride.

this is neither heaven nor hell but something wholly
in-between,
purgatory surrounded by faceless skin walkers,
starched
by their infinitesimally short lives and i, among them,
walk
to and fro, just as forsaken as they, with this knowledge to
bear.

their lives are kept in a cycle of dust, clenched in bloodied
hands,
molded not like potter’s clay as i was told– no, they are
wild,
petulant things, so full of ideas and wit and horrible will;
teetering
somewhere on the edge of an oblivion of fire or
light.

i miss my many eyes and tongues of fire and gossamer wings
painfully,
there is an emptiness in my eggshell skull that yearns to
break,
to pour out vengeance in bowlfuls, to chant amongst the
others,
to hear my all-knowing kin as they blow their trumpets to signal
armageddon.

In the dream we were in a hotel in New York. We were walking in tandem towards a really tall glass elevator. We got in and went up to the hotel room;  we were both carrying powder blue suit cases and the same expression. He unlocked the door, outside the room the carpet was plush and forest green.  Keys jangle, tumblers fall, cut to us in the bathroom. Him on the toilet, dressed in tuxedo pants and a Hawaiian shirt, head in his hands looking tired. Me in the tub, the water is transparent purple and the floors are marble. I say something: inaudible. He slips out the tiny white box and shakes one, two, three times - always. A thin cigarette shimmies out of cardboard, into his hand, into mine and finally he lights it. Smoke curls up like a cliche and we do that until it's gone. We both know it's over, but the audience... The audience knows he's found the girl he wanted. She's got strawberry hair and only listens to Bright eyes. Who is she? Stage left, pan to elevator door sliding open and he's leaving. He's got his powder blue and baby pink beside him and I'm still in the tub with the ashes.

all of god's angels couldn't put me back together again