a fistful of black feathers

they always said that angel wings stood for salvation

and that we're trapped in some sort of

outmoded way of life left behind by those who refused to acknowledge

that sooner or later everything has to die

and that your mind's eye isn't always the most reliable source

when it comes to remembering the exact colors of the sunset

you've let yourself down because you left your eyes behind

off in a field somewhere in the countryside

by the creek where you said you'd pick them up when you wanted to see again

you made a promise to yourself but you never realized

how easily bones can break

and how simple words can tear through your ribs

and leave your lungs tattered, drifting in the wind

like hands searching tirelessly for someone else to hold

if only to reassure themselves that someone else is out there

sticks and stones

brambles and branches

and a fire headed toward your home

couldn't turn you away from your plotted course

straight into the heart of the darkest storm imaginable

where you are kept in that small glass box to live out your days

and when you finally meet the gaze of the angel

he will be there only to lower the veil