Molting Season

Is it dreaming,
Simply sleeping,
Knowing waiting,
That you one day will never wake up,

Is it too much to ask to die alone in the dark,
To wrapped up warm and nice in the dark,
In the split second from a spark,

I will tear off the wings of your angel,
Maybe the feathers will,
BLOW AWAY
Off to the distance where the blessing will return in the winter and freeze itself on the mountains and lakes