These Scars, They Tell Stories - A Poem Collection

the angel of death

She was not scared, and yet she dared not pass

for she saw me peering through the glass.

Her eyes, flickered dim light

they begged for freedom and subtly for flight. 

One day her wish would come true

after the city dried, the old and the new.

You see, there was a rain

one that brought everyone pain.

She first had to dry off her kin

a witness to the drying of sin.

Her time was well met

not bargain made, or even a bet.

She'd be close to heaven

up in the sky, at only age seven.

She now stood beside me

how ever could it be?

Her eyes followed an infant,

pure and innocent.

Her face behind a dark glass,

waiting for his time to pass.