The Song of the Angel

The first time I heard the angel sing by my ear, we were down by the hospital and I was seeing the world for the first time.

Sounding like a scream, warning me of all that was to come, she ached for my return.

The last time I heard the angel sing by my ear, my brother was driving too fast and the dead end street didn’t seem like a stopping point.

Sounding like a lullaby, welcoming me into her haven, she caressed my soul for eternity.

Lilacs

she wore lilac in her hair

woven with great care

each and every morning.

her hair twisted this way and that

as she danced on the tracks,

the wind carrying the most delicate of notes.

a whistle in the distance.

barefoot and elegant,

she paid no mind,

her eyes closed,

her heart set.

the wind surged around her,

fighting the skirts of her dress,

tugging and pulling,

painting a picture of what was to come.

she paid no mind

as the wheels spun

faster,

faster,

almost there.

she twirled with the lilacs in her hair,

though they had begun to wilt,

and the wind fought harder,

screaming,

shouting

move!

move!

as the wheels spun

faster,

faster,

too close.

and then they were there.

and the sky cried at the sight

of the beautiful girl on the ground,

its tears washing the color

of the lilacs that she wore

until they were dark and falling apart

and cold

like she was.

and the wind howled,

whipping around her body,

singing to her one last song

in hopes that she would dance again

among the stars

where the lilacs always grew

and the music always played

and where she would never cry

the way that the sky had that day.

among the stars

where happiness was everlasting

and so was she.