A/N: I am not a poet.
I wrote this as a way to cope with being unable to see someone I love very deeply. Criticize all you want, but it is what it is.
4:30 PM
Two little angels dead
The sun passes above, heedless of the torment down below.
The wind blows, flowers grow, oceans rise, rivers flow.
The earth tilts on its axis, spinning, rolling, turning.
Days pass. Night falls. Hope dies, love burns.
The hour passes, heedless of the torment from within.
We sit here, stunned, our bones turn to ice.
Our heart rates slow. Our veins still as frozen highways.
9:20 PM. Two little angels weep.
Feathers fall from crooked wings, dissipate into the sky.
Skeletons remain, heedless of the life from all around.
Hands touching hands, bones scrape against bones.
Tear-stained skulls and battered ribs, beating, pulsing, throbbing.
Hands holding hands, hearts against hearts, head to head.
Flowers grow, caressing these bones, rivers flow.
Beauty in death, peace in sleep, pain no more.
11:30 PM. Two little angels dead.