They say it's too cold for the angels to fly.
And I feel the cold, the dark, bitter, hopeless cold seeping through my walls..
I feel the cold impacting those I love, the ones I wish to protect from the monstrous cold.
The cold which devours and leaves only a trail of frozen heart ready to shatter, the cold has devoured me.
They say it's too cold for angels to fly.
And I say they're right.
Winter has fallen, the eternal kind, the kind which seems as though daylight may never reach your cold skin again.
It freezes those who try to fly.
They say it's too cold for angels to fly.
But somehow you managed to.
You flew like an angel, kissing my cheek with warmth and love, even as you flew away.
I still don't understand how you make me feel, happy? sad? angry? depressed? confused? I don't understand how you fly.
They say it's too cold for angels to fly.
And the the cold has seized all wings, binding them in tight bonds.
But your heart is bright and warm, the bonds release the angel they bounded, letting her fly.
The angel flew straight for the sun, right into the heart filled with the bright love you emitted.
They say it's too cold for angels to fly.
Yet, and yet, you did.
Yet, and yet, you flew.
Yet, and yet, your heart grew warmer and stilled whilst mine grew colder and willed itself itself to sleep with a lullaby of tears and screams.
The angels, the true angels, can fly with the warmth in their heart and the smiles on their faces.
They can fly away from us, forever.
YOU ARE READING
Death and its Grievers.
Poesiasome are sad, others not so much. it's taken me some time to publish these, and more will probably be coming. ∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆ @ 2017. All rights reserved. All content is property of Cassandra Kirone.
