"She conquered her demons and wore her scars like wings." (Atticus)
Her heart has been broken
and stitched back together a thousand times.
His rose has withered in the concrete,
trampled by weeds.
The knife that tore her apart,
the needle that mended her skin.
The tears that poisoned his eyes
caressed the wilted petals.
The fire that burned through their time
now rages inside their soul,
the darkness that unleashed demons
fuels the spark in their eyes.
The words that haunted them
like phantoms in the night,
Messages in cracked bottles
drowning in a silent sea,
were glass jars of Greek fire,
an explosion illuminating the sky.
The words,
shards of glass, ghosts of the past
withered flowers, cracked concrete, wilted petals
stained knives, bleeding heart, silver needles, shattered mirrors
torn shackles, rusted crown, covered scars, burning ashes,
gold and diamonds, broken things, fallen walls
screaming echoes of love songs
newborn flowers
and
an
explosion of
words
.
.
.
the tears
and colors
that
.
.
.
fall
to the ground
like rain
.
.
.
the
pain
and hurt
that
.
.
.
grew and
blossomed into
flowers
.
.
.
life
is a canvas
.
.
.
we
are the
masterpiece
.
YOU ARE READING
On Icarus Wings
Poetrybut what became of the boy whose dreams were carried on broken angel wings?
