Fallen Angels Poem Image With every ripped, bloody wing We sin - TopicsExpress



          

Fallen Angels Poem Image With every ripped, bloody wing We sin and curse the lords And for the consequence We depart from the heavenly gates Forever cast away Our own creators Send us a-stray As we descend from the golden gates With blood and scars apon our face The blasting heat of the atmospheres force Burns the silky skin Now apon this a-cursed earth one more We fight ourselves inside We rip at the vacant hole That use to contain a soul The acid tears run down our cheeks As all our memories remain bitter-sweet We shudder when the warmth of the sunlight falls apon our face The glistening silky touch of the rays Burn like the reality we must face The reality That we are trash That we were not wanted to live in peace That we must walk the earth for a Melania Never to find That we can not die Instead We creep into the cities We live among the humanoid figures That we once were We dress in the same attire as anyone else We hate, and love like anyone else We eat, we drink like anyone else We shed dark maroon blood like anyone else We can feel the silky touch and tingle of a kiss apon the lips or body like anyone else Yet We do not die like anyone else We do not age like anyone else We do not live as anyone else For we have already passed away Eternal rest Our bodies cursed To walk this earth For eternity Yet We look as anyone else For we cover up What should be revealed The walking dead Our wounds never heal Tormented daily By the pain of a never resting body The tension we face When we finally break *snap* The sudden rush of misery Of reality Of the years And years Weve been forced to cry And plead that we may return To the one place we can rest So that we may somehow find inner peace So that we may sleep But no That will never come again We were fools And we paid the price These acid tears run down our face Once more As we find a shallow ditch to hide A shallow ditch in which we lay To somehow cry the years away This shallow ditch Is called a grave The very grave in which our earthly humanoid bodies lay As the bones and flesh rot away The stench of the dead that lay so silent Fills our noses We lay next to our former selves And wonder Why? Why was it I who shall be cast down back to earth? To live out this evil curse As we scream at the top of our lungs A simple question that will never be answered Why? Although there is more to this simple word What we define with that simple word Has more energy than we have left So we sum it up with Why? We try to pray every day Alas we studder We choke on the holy words That spill out from our lips They do not fit the tongue They sound as foreign as our own presence on this earth once more Though we say them every day Father into your hands I commend my spirit, Father. . . . . . Why? Why have you forsaken me?! The prayer is broken by betrayal We ponder at the thought Of why we still pray Most likely To be cast away Once more We break the thoughts with acts of hate The hate comes from the reality That the lord sits and smirks As we suffer and crawl in the mud As our spirits are broken And the mind snaps As we break our backs As we try to become sane once more Fallen angels Of hate Of lies Of Blood and gore Of death and light Of lust Of murder As these broken hallow bodies Walk once more Their wings ripped from there skin By their very own creator Only long scars along the back can be seen As our looks remain pristine We walk among the living As though we are real But alas We are but spirits that seem so life-like You can touch The very fabrication we are Nothing but light and heavy iridescent chains Though the hands run straight through them As if they shant weigh us down To earth to live out this curse Once more We live But not so as the simple mind it seems We Are fallen angels Of the lords creation Gone wrong
Posted on: Mon, 04 Nov 2013 20:12:35 +0000

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