Fallen Angel

Wanting to crawl back to the safety of the womb,
It bawled into fetal positions echoing whimper cries
Fallen from a pedestal of grace of society costumes
Fragile piece of polished perfect crystal model die.

Shattering pieces razor shards wail hollow scream
So alone - the chills quaked heartbeats endless moan
More dead than alive - living suicide to decide dreams
Nails scraping veins crust bearing soul’s vain stone.

Headstone carved out of granite birth weathers alone
Forbearing dread creeping forlorn shadows clammy cling
Smothering treason to die, where one crawls bare bone
Spirited reasons to live, where one walks nude’s leaf spring.

Wings needed mending.
Pieces needed tending.
Scars needed nursing.
Souls needed healing.
Mind needed loving.

She then spread her feathers
Upon the quill of the universe
Where her spell cast such weather
Every crystal star sparkled singing its verse.
If only a Fallen Poet could sparkle so.

Note: Written in Nashville, where there are more fallen Angels, than rising Angels. Since this is for the feminine gender, I guess my wings are still clipped to dreams. I feel more like the first two stanzas trying to make the third work, with the last two working to the last line’s meaning.

David Lester Young 12/30/08©
De-Terminated poet, somewhere in America not on company time