The clouds surround me, sweet serenity,
blue skies and white wine,
green grass, with peace at mind.
Tranquillity and stability.
When the angels cry,
the rain turns to blood
the sky turns to grey
the grass, merely a centimetre of dust
blew by the heave of the wind.
Every statue they break apart
Much like the crystals they torture the dark,
like the thunder they shake the ground
when the angels cry, their wrists become bound together
destruction in their tears is disturbing the weather.
The clouds reform, as the sky is reborn
the glass of wine, still in my hands.
The peace still here on the foreign land,
the daisies they blossom white, and the grass vibrant and bright.
Then the angels cry.
YOU ARE READING
Chemicals
PoetryThere are thoughts in my head laced with chemicals and dread i'll write them all down word for word, in a series of rhymes this way I wont crash and burn. (Trigger Warning)