wings of air

Cold stares are the finale I came to witness, there my motions surround me out of body. The stale old iron rusting to the humming ending of that is me. The blinds come down, as is the last full moon of the winters. The reflection of my dying wish fade into the cracks, under an ailing bridge for safe keeping. The last letter of comands send to the angel of the heaven, not the seventh but the fifth to carry my soul into the chamber of question asking for the reasons of my reason for that which I have become. I am lifted into wings of air not contious of the thrilling horror that come with judgment. The fusion of isolation as I am placed in solitude. The wimpers of deep dark darkness circle me darker than the darkest night with no moon. Dark as the eye’s of an owl, dark as the hate of deseption, darker than opression, darker than depression, darker that the blood taken of innocent freedom. darker that war, darker that the count of bodies. darker than the feeling of alone. I am there waiting for my turn to speak my truth, and explain my existance to find a reward I may not deserve.