+ more
<< 2:16 a.m. - Wednesday, Sept. 18, 2002 >>
Cool little poem. Read entry before this. I couldn't seem to attach them.

Black Wings

she emerges from the veined gate
draped in dark lace
a silver tip to every edge of cloth
where she was once hailed with light
she remains silent and purple
choking to become what she is not
weeping tulips rise to meet the ash about her feet
glorious white wings lay in waste
the dead clung too tightly
a halo of smoke became her
goddess of the underworld,� they cry
�take me away.�
she can do nothing
her dim heart betrays no mercy
and so she keeps walking
searching for a place to rest.