What must I do, to prove I am an a angel? Which new cosmetic cream should I use to age defy my halo? Which fowls wings should I borrow? Which demon-be-gone pill should I swallow? Which eye should I wink cuz I want you...oh so bad to follow. And please don not worry, you are safe, this glass bottle won't break this green bags just a fake, and the chimney of smoke is only a cling unto memory of the up-up-so-high clouds I used to see. The up-up-so-high clouds where he used to behold me. I've seen before my reflection in his pupils dilation, and I've seen me grow smaller and undefined as the light grew dimmer with the tic-toc of time. And I promised hime I could change a bulb, I even flew 'round our world to shed unto him light and wipe away his cold. And I asked politely, if possibly he could watch me and believe that this new found stranger was an angel and she goes by Hannah Bee! And she also desired very much his company, if only he could let go and grow to the man once loved before, the one she wished to hold. But the angel in me smelt make0believe and I fucking new it could never be! So I let loose my hold, my wings flew by fast as a blur, and the discovered for the cure "us" he never heard over the flurry of my wings. And so now I go...shimmering up to strangers. Forced naivety for city limit dangers. After hello's and dialogue of sorts, I slowly, slyly, reveal some wing. Pure, glass, ffragil but please hold me wing. And the looks I recieve are all blank. Everyone sees what they've been taught to believe, and angels rarely appear on the streets of Salt Lake City. All they see is the constellations on my shoulder blades from sunshine kisses history, thinking it could be a fun one night fling. But I see that! And my insides tip, fumbling, tumbling down. And I weep soft chords, hard notes onto my constant friend the ground. And I realize my tears can sing and sound, as angelic as my mother...how I wish to fly for her, how I need to shine forme, how I want you all to hear my tears symphony. Guess we could all use emotional hearing aids once we hit thirteen. Guess even angels need hugs and curbs, especially when lost in the city... thank you for reading my souls work
I second Lozi's "wow!" What a wonderful read, a nonstop barrage of spellbinding images! I loved that you have it in prose form, especially when it reads in an almost metered flow; it's rare to see much prose poetry around here, especially of such high caliber! Thanks for sharing this, enjoyed immensely!
Thank you both very much for taking the time, I usually read it out loud, so I wondered if it would sound the way I meant it to. Thanks again!
