Original Poetry

[motsdejeva]

Each day it surrounds us,
a blanket of comfort and solitude
which no one can intrude upon during this rain
which storms from the heavens as
the angels cry out into tears,
their wings plucked and soon to be torn away
for the sins which have been committed here on earth.
But fear not their horrible time,
when darkness rules our lands and the
tears of old come pouring down,
rejoice in the new life that comes even
when there's nothing left of them
but the cold air, falling crystals, and bloodied sky.