Angel Sky

by Ralkkai

There’s no beauty left here,
just the desecrated bowels
of peppermint lips
and the misery sung through
keystrokes and the sound
more like gun smoke now
and [the] last palpable feeling
that we once
owned the angel sky.

The dreams here
were washed ashore
many years ago
and now only driftwood
may find the comfort
of a soul not yet
trapped in tear-choked
despair.

The driftwood is angel wings.

Misery danced
my soul through Heaven and Hell
and the muse mused
upon the world misspelled
and I cursed my lassitude
and damned my hands
and wore the wounds
like the pride of every other man.

It is my art and it is my divine
right to die by my swords
yet I cannot stand a witness to
a suicide that cannot exist.

The scriptures are gutted
and the pale moon cries
the warriors are all mute
and the world is Achilles.
I am the mistress in bedrooms
with the sheets covering lust
and the dynasty
is carved out of heart-ache and love

and

the driftwood is angel wings.

A portrait painted,
a story told,
a man ridden wild
and a girl too young to know.
The demons share their secrets
and the judges lay the gavels.
Tomorrows challenged by philosophy.
The death of God on Sunday.
What makes my grave hollow and hallow?
What ruins your tears?
What stands Hell-bound for redemption
and what kills lovers for love?

Words kill the words
but
driftwood is angel wings.

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