There's an old porcelain angel that sits on my bedside table, it's a reminder of the ones I've loved, and the ones I've lost.
That little angel has the most magestic wings, when I touch them I can feel the ripples as I slide my finger down.
She has star and moon holes at the bottom of her dress so light can get out, when you burn a candle.
Her face looks so innocent and pure, reminds me of myself, long ago.
Sometimes I wonder was I ever innocent, I felt so much pain at such a young age.
I long to have the soaring wings, the little angel has.
If I did would I have already fled, or would I be here instead?
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Author:
Faye99 (
Offline) - Published: August 25th, 2017 22:44
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
- Users favorite of this poem: Accidental Poet
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Comments2
Pain does not mean you're guilty of anything. Your innocence has matured as it should. Love yourself Faye and give yourself back those wings you had as a child. Beautifully written piece Faye. ; )
Thank you for your comment, it means a lot.
You're very welcome.
Beautiful writing, Faye. It is the age-old question of 'what if' and you will never know. Better to look forward.
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