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
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