An angel cries as beauty dies

Beauty
I lay in bed and beauty sleeps, a rest that feels like velvet, and all around the wonderous song, of angels in the shadows.

Let beauty sleep her dreams so sweet, her heart a mystery for me, she loves her nymph, she seeks her now.

I saw beauty rest as we fled, our fears she overcame, and with a sigh and sign of life, she dies to rise again.

An angel cries as beauty dies, the earth moans long and deep, for beauty loved and beauty lived, and now our beauty sleeps. Amen.


Angels
There are times when everything is still and clear, times when your heart is full and an angel caresses your soul.

Your angel can lift you, protect you, inspire you and fill your dreams. He can create a lifetime in a moment and show you wonder beyond words.

Do you speak to your angel?


Gasping
I am filled by a feeling by so strong
That I am breathless
Gasping
In wonder at this danger that brings
Joy and terror in one smile.

It cocoons, it spins, it lifts
My spirit as I see nothing more than a flash of teeth
And his eyes, so beautiful
And dark
That I want to cry.

Cry with joy, fear, surprise, terror
That such a feeling will vanish without
Fulfilment.
How can he be so right, so unspeakably right?
And still leave me breathless, gasping.


Darkness
The line between love and madness is such a delicate trace across the heart. Where they join, where one becomes the other, the two are inseparable, indistinguishable. Both leave me giddy, disorientated, unsure of what is right and wrong, or good and bad, blinkered, selfish and obsessed. I know the madness so well that I fear these feelings and what they might become. I fear another journey into darkness. Yet it might be love, it might be joy, it might a bright light that distracts and dazzles and forces me to look away. Or it might not be. I walk the edge. I know the darkness so well it's familiarity is almost comforting and there is fear in the new, the untried, the unknown. From darkness to the light, a single step, a hesitation, a fear. I am so afraid.

(c) Annabel Hamilton-Smith 2010