This is a little darker of a poem today; a sad and sobering bit of creative writing that depicts an angel looking in upon a lost human.
By K Marie
Gold rimmed and blazing auburn,
the color of his beautiful hair
is also the color of his rancid rage.
And aged asphalt is the color of
his self pity.
It torches every stitch and fiber of what
remains of a precious heart.
And so he continues to inject himself
with intoxicating fury and drugs.
He wraps himself in the heavy
atmosphere. It is filled with the scent of
souring vodka, cigarettes, meaningless relations,
and dirty laundry.
It makes for a cumbersome
garment. One that he trips
The air he deeply inhales is unclean.
It curls and snakes
around his neck like black licorice.
This smoke fills the cavities in his body,
Those hidden places that contain lifeblood.
Places that were carefully and expertly made
to be filled with peace, love, light, and
All is burnt black to the core.
The angel stares from the threshold
and wonders at the deep and dank
pollution in which
he has chosen to wrap himself.
A beautiful heart that sin has made
into a moldering compost
He hears a quiet voice.
“I’ve seen the Lord of hosts,
Stand up and
wash this away with living water.”
The angel’s voice languishes,
soundless in the smog.
“I am damaged,” he snarls in response.
An excuse that clings to the walls
of his heart like stale and aged tapestry
collecting spider legs and dead skin.