Enchanting blossoming of flowers
Rejuvenate in times of gloom and despair
Cherubic smile of my daughter!
A pair of lily white wings
dangling in the dappled moonlight esprit;
hang entangled as silken spider web
draped in the sweet Magnolia tree
From beneath there was no way of knowing
why a pair of abandoned wings lodge mislaid
One could not help but wonder how high
one might fly with cherub wings
But these callused feet tread far below the treetops
too high up from roots to climb
No telltale tiptoe prints cavort to be the talebearer
No feathered traces scattered all around
A hearken say, tickle-footed as a ladybug,
hold forth in a breeze brushed ear
Not completely undoubtable heed spoken;
a language bestow from another ether
softly breathe a whisper'd sigh:
"Behold the wings of a fallen angel;
uplifted by love's amazing grace
Lost alone in a moonstruck blindness
an angel flying too close
to the ground
08 March 2018
At this point, I only hope he can rest peacefully
And that a part of him has been reincarnated into an unassuming cherub.
At this point, I just hope that one day when I’m old and grey-headed
In Soho or Orlando or in Florence...
I’ll come across a young man laughing.
A young man who resembles him: his unique look, the distinctive voice, distinct laugh...
I won’t know it and neither will he.
But perhaps we’ll meet again for a split second
In another time, another place, another life...
Angels gather in chilly skies,
Floating down to kiss the ground.
Their silent songs are gathered there,
Upon a landscape cold and bare.
Gentle wings on an icy prayer,
Paint the world with frosty dreams.
Cherubs dancing through the air,
Time stands still or so it seems.
Messengers from heaven above.
Blanketing a quiet earth
With peaceful, tender, healing love.
The winds have changed,
Sweet songs remain
But night grows long
As the moonlight wanes
Spirits waltz across the field
As clouds are gently swept away.
Wielding starlight, night remains
An angel’s keep through autumn’s deep.
Witness all the rooms you rent,
all the pieces of heart
gifted by lovers or strangers"
said The Cherub.
"My arrows choose which you will cherrish."
"While we lay entangled here,
Having consumed one another.
Do you wonder if we will cherrish this?"
said The Archer.
"Would you like to come even closer
And discover the answer? "
replied The Cherub.
"Every memory I've choosen to cherrish,
says The Archer.
"Well of course it did,
You tried to choose.
We cannot choose
which memories we will cherrish.
We may only pull
faith From quiver.
Give in to potential
Close your eyes.
Empty all your senses
Until the only sense you have is Trust
I'll fill those empty spaces,
can you feel me?"
"Yes, you are close."
"You have my quiver now.
We still have no control over whether
We will cherrish this moment.
Put your faith in this bow.
Draw back our arrow
Trust it's natural path.
Close our eyes.
Forget this room.
Volley the whole tower"
Originally Written as The Title/Description of My Paper sculpture of the same name:
You can VIEW THAT PAPER SCULPTURE HERE:
I, in sorrow forever live and swell.
A thousand pangs and more each hour.
Alone to wait and weep for misery's bell
And bleed in Hell's Stygian bower.
Marred by silence, marred alone,
Obsequies possessed and slighted.
Death in heart, death in home,
But, my love, redemption, sighted.
The beauteous Cherub, me heart adored,
From the arms of Nyx delivered;
My bliss forever with her restored
And from our love, death did slither.
— The End —