His hands are clouded
shrouded
in ink of pens and paint of brushes
and drawing of paper. I smile,
he doesn't understand me,
I don't understand him,
angel. Angel... angel.
My inspirational Godsend I thank
God to be able to meet him,
to know him,
because not all sweet
or mysterious
or amazing things look that
way to every person...
And to look at You, it scares me,
oh you marvelous dark and shrouded angel.
Your dreams are haunting and you hear the same
psychotic sounds I hear.
Your creation is beautiful, horrible, terrifying
but an addiction I can't replicate.
Angel I see, I wait on you to love me,
although our languages are different.
I can't decipher your mind;
I smile,
wait,
if angels live so long.
Then.
I want you,
I want to remember your heart's song.
I want to remember your icy blond hair,
your eyes.
I feel you,
I am amazed by you.
To me, you were always
the portrait that came to life...
You slip away into the future and the past.
I cannot find you,
yet I discover you again;;
from concrete downtown heaven to distant old-friend places
only our memories will recognize such faces.
The art I could never replicate.
The artist I could never deface,
The mind I struggle to comprehend
The image I cannot erase.
I wait on an angel, a divine, undecipherable angel...
