Angelus

Listen to the sound of the Angelus.

It’s passed six but I’m still standing here.

I come forth as a fallen saint;

Singing a song of chasing fragile sanity.

This is a crestfallen parody,

Of my mirage’s painful aftermath.

I see his face in my wretched dreams,

Yet I offer him a single bloody rose.

And if he wishes now to go away,

See me bid him farewell in a silent scream;

And though tears trickle down my twisted smile,

I hope he doesn’t see its sparkling flow.

To be sangfroid in gone like a whispering feather;

As regretful sighs dance away with the evening wind.

Though slowly beating, my heart grows numb.

For what else is there but useless hopes and follies.

So my scars are kissed by autumn blossoms,

But we all know that scars will forever stay.

The hour glass now comes to a stop;

As all laughter drown in a sea of shame.

And though my God’s painting a peaceful sunset masterpiece;

Yet I see a gray picture up on a broken wall.

A picture of a fading prayer from traitorous lips.

See them drift away like cryptic butterflies.

I take a bow again.

But still, this is not the end.