my own wings
Shrouded in grief ..
A prophetic event started with a
Black winged, dark Angel perched on my roof.
On that starry night while naked I wore old Raven's red.
A serrated blade cut against my peach soft neck.
I defiantly refused phoning for help
Even though I gave a gallant struggle
He was always stronger
He swooped down gaffing off my souls heart of hearts.
Then reached in and touched my deep inner thigh with his fist
Breaking down my wombs scarred bondage
Healing me or wounding me, turning me back round,
Who knows now?
Purifying me in his internal mental hell,
But still unable to control my fire
A mirror image of me, yet not.
Opposite but perfectly representing self,
Male to female, dark to light, unfaithful to true
Unable to hold anything he's done against him,
Actions defining us both.
I can see now how obnoxiously
Pig headed I have been in my own past.
Genetically unable to request help.
Or believe in uncatched kindness
Now I guess "when pigs fly"
Is just an out dated phrase?
So bless me before dawn
Rename me, fitting ME
For angelic wings.
( do you see the words forming the shape of a feathered wing on it's side?)
Copyright~lghurcomb Wednesday, July 18, 2007