The heavens birthed an ethereal raiment.
Rained-down in whispered droplets to clothe you in
lily-white purity. An enchanting guise
to which your prowess bequeaths such
comforting tranquility.
Your lace touch ever-soft and promising
Such faint echos of a calm to juxtapose
my void of emptiness. I beseech your kind
mercies. Forgive me in feint fleur-de-lis and
rain down mercy.
I'll step into the light to taste the sweet manna
as it descends delightfully onto ashen brows.
Bathe me in your joyous hue and reveal to
me life anew. Commend my spirit into
your celestial grace.
Non. Pas de pardon pour un coeur si troublé.
Your welcoming silken touch frowns with darkened disdain.
I am rejected to once more commune with the darkness.
Soot tears crash violently onto tarred puddles of
pain.
Am I not worthy?
You said you would save me. Why won't you save me?
Marcellino Carlo
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lies-from-the-lips-of-angels/
