George C. Biester

My angel, she bleeds.

Long brown hair like the one in my dreams. The one with no face but she sings. Voice like an angel, she's frail at the seams. I wish I could save her, but instead I just watch as she bleeds.

She needs my attention, she wants my disease. "It's not mine to give" as I fall to my knees.

This mind I was given is fragile at best. I feel like it's broken......she thinks it's a beautiful mess.

She picks up the pieces and piles them up, not even a thank you but she doesn't give up.

Patient she waits, it's all about me. It's time now angel, please.... go and be free.

 

 

 

Comments4

  • Louis Gibbs

    Intriguing poem, TRO! Welcome to MPS. I look forward to more.

  • George C. Biester

    Thank you my friend.

  • WL Schuett

    Very good poem with lots of feeling a very good start

  • George C. Biester

    I'm glad you all like it. Thanks for taking the time to read it.



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