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Cecil Miller Sep 2016
I dreamt an Angel came to me,
To lead me like a child
Through a cement wilderness-
Through storms and weather mild.

Her skin was dark and wrinkled.
Her hair was sparse and grey.
Her hand held out, "Help me, honey."
Was all she had to say.

I passed her by without much care.
She would return to me.
To haunt my thoughts
And ease, someday,
My angst with her gris-gris.

I was tired of running,
And my fear was closing in.
She took me down, turned me around,
Then gave me life, again.
This poem echoes one I wrote  when I was twenty-five I called, "The Angel" but it describes a character and events in the prologue to my book, Hainted. I retain all copywrites.

— The End —