Skin like satin
hair spun from fresh silk
Wings that unraveled with grace
Feathers laid upon feathers
Cradling a thousand whispered prayers
and underneath there lay protected:
A bud, that blooms from whether a blessing or a curse
Creator of beauty: God
Creator of divine: God
The creator of me?
God.
I was brought into this world by god and was to be taken by his creation
God gave me beauty, God gave me holy, divine, innocent, or purity that could not be recreated.
Lastly, god gave me what made me.
God gave me a path
And myself? I gave myself a choice to follow.
As someone created from beauty or "holy" itself, should consciousness be an answer?
Was this a gift given by God? If I were the creature of purity, why is "myself" given intuition for an answer? This "self" is a sin.
Creation: to be born to please.
Something that defined what I was meant to be, but why can I define myself?
God..please. I wept.
But I'd rather him not answer.
In holiness, I basked, and myself I grieved, but this wasn't something I was ever really given.
How do you grieve something that was never lost?
YOU ARE READING
The Rebirth of a Broken Angel
PoetryDo you know how much it hurt me? I know how much it hurt you. You killed me once. Then a hundred times. And each time, you watched me die. You saw my tears fall, but maybe you never noticed. Do you know how much it hurt me? It's okay if you don't. I...
