the angels mourn us daily
silent tears glisten against
ruby cheeks
soft gossamer wings flutter
lightly
the work continues in
quiet sorrow
Help me. Help me. Help me.
the cry rings out
but who can hear the
answer
and us playing gods
petty
a thousand universes stir
inside us
the angels cry for our
ending time
worlds attempting to escape us
moving
flowing up to release
but
the escape only pains
us
there is no help for us
not us
we birth universes
from a place somewhere
deep
but the angels only
watch
tears stain their soft
faces
we are not made for the
pain
of birth
it kills us
About the Creator
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More stories from Karla Campos and writers in Poets and other communities.
where are you.
If ever we were to decide to be one, as we are meant to be, would I have to find you or would you come find me? And where do you think you would find me? Do you even think you could? How far would you go to try and see me? To track down the places I have been to, to follow me down those dark and lonely roads. Would you dare follow me into this darkness? This cave with no day and no light. Would you fall into eternal darkness and live under a starless sky? Just to come find me.
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The rays of a dying red sun flashed against the onrushing blade. The grey beards say the key to dueling lies in size, speed, reach, righteous fury, whatever the person in front of them pays them to say. Matteo knew better than any it was none of these and had an undefeated record on these sands to prove it.
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