Wednesday, April 10, 2013


Category: Poetry/Lyrics


Caressing like,
a gentle springtime breeze.
Lingering whispers ancient,
hang and do tease.
My mind so afraid;
but at once most at eaze.
‘though of things
I should not know;
Like a mother,
they cradle me so.

Eyes closed I wonder,
how old these whispers be.
Can all around hear them;
or be they just for me?
Echoes abound;
of things I do not know.
Confused mind;
twisting heart;
awondering so.

“Come hither;
go wither!
On your way go!”

A simple madness
cloaks me;
To a mirror,
I run to see.
And there it sat shining;
not a picture to see.
But an angel so bright,
smiling back at me.

“Welcome Michael….! 
Your soul to meet thee.”

Posted by archangel on 04/10 at 08:45 PM | Permalink
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