The Angel...
The angel of death watches over me;
Presiding, a faceless black valkyrie
With eyes of varnished jet
And the soul of a chastened murderer
He loves me, he wants me - he yearns…
He dreams of the day when I will come home
Into his eternal embrace,
Into his realm of fire and snow
I wonder if he would make me his queen,
I wonder if my crown would be of thorns
Or bleeding roses?
I do long for him sometimes,
In the night, in the dark, when my blood is cold
And the loneliness is a vicious ache,
Deep down in the pit of my heart
Then I sigh out the name of Death,
My hand clasped to my breast,
And each breath grating through my lips
We were made for each other, death and I
We are two withered peas,
Locked in a shrivelled pod –
We are the anti-Christ, the anti-life,
We are the scorch of hell fire on flesh
And the taste of arsenic on your tongue
Oh I may be mortal now, vulnerable as a fawn,
But my sands are ebbing, time is running out
And soon I will fly to meet him, dear Death,
On his skeleton horse in a suit of charred armour
My knight, my night…
My black night
I have become accustomed to the dark,
It soothes me,
A vampire it has made of me, shunning the light
Cringing from sunshine, hiding my eyes
I want to bury my face in the nape of death,
In his swirling ebony hair,
And be cocooned in its smothering gloom
Copyright © Amy Van De Casteele | Year Posted 2009
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment