Angels in the Cemetary: Fallen Angels
Condemned to a never-ending nightmare, wings tattered and broken, they watch the living like mistrusting sentinals; no longer the bringers of light. Their likeness cast into stone, marble and iron, littering churches for the comfort of the sinners who flock there, repenting, monuments to the dead for the comfort of the living.
Touch their skin, and they sigh. Whisper to them, and they weep. And in the hush of midnight they wander in our nightmares, remote and helpless.
Perhaps lost to insanity they whisper into the wind as they stand forever in the cemetaries, gutteral mumblings meshing with the sounds of wind through leaves, hideous secrets carelessly uttered in revenge to the spiritually deaf.
And in the hush of midnight they wander through our dreams; remote, helpless, eternally mad.
Condemned to a never-ending nightmare, wings tattered and broken, they watch the living like mistrusting sentinals; no longer the bringers of light. Their likeness cast into stone, marble and iron, littering churches for the comfort of the sinners who flock there, repenting, monuments to the dead for the comfort of the living.
Touch their skin, and they sigh. Whisper to them, and they weep. And in the hush of midnight they wander in our nightmares, remote and helpless.
Perhaps lost to insanity they whisper into the wind as they stand forever in the cemetaries, gutteral mumblings meshing with the sounds of wind through leaves, hideous secrets carelessly uttered in revenge to the spiritually deaf.
And in the hush of midnight they wander through our dreams; remote, helpless, eternally mad.
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