The Seraph With Blackened Wings

[ISawASpaceship]

A black,
intricate design
is woven delicately
by the hand of Temptation
into the seraph's wings.


He is an archangel gracing my bed
but when I gaze upon the face
of the man,
I find that reality,
no longer
and that there is no dark seraph at all,
in my presence, at all
and so I,
with weary heart,
roll over onto my side
and close both heavy,
ever-dimming eyes
and I fall into the depths
of a planted fantasy,
as one falls into the depths of hell
and I feel the deepest feelings
as one would feel in hell
but on the opposite end of the spectrum.
I feel ecstasy
until I am stirred from my slumber,
where I groan
because he is elsewhere.


Oh, angel that flew from my presence,
the crux of my existence,
the bringer of light,
I kneel on my bed
in my very sleep
and I beg for your red,
silken eyes
to rise
to mine
in a place that is not a planted fantasy,
in a place that is not a planted fantasy,
because you have fled into the hills
and have taken my home,
my Rome,
with you
but I am not there.
I am here.


I am not.