Refusing to touch the ground.
-wings slowly tearing apart-
-pressure of rushing air unbearable-
-the dull extremities of blinding Earthen colors-
In his heart
Burning hatred is harbored
In his frigid veins
In his loving glance
We marvel at this sight,
Raise praises to the Lord above
For sending us his divine artisan.
Though what we overlook
Reveals his exiled truth.
The black-tipped feathers of his wings.
Scarlet-dried blood beneath his nails.
A solitary ashen streak
Parting a sea of ebony hair.
His once glistening robe of silk,
Now coated and splotched with mud and blood.
Though when he opens his mouth,
The gentle cadence of his words
Sets a glamour of beauty
Upon my prodding eyes
Creating the illusion of utter perfection,
A hypnosis sewn with sweetened lies.
Determined to fly once more.
A/N: Acerbus Angelus=Bitter Angel