I am a dreamer of a man.
I’m esoteric, compelling and vain.
I carry alchemy in my hands
and bane scarlet veneer in my veins,
silver tainted illusions at the tip of my wings
and a nostalgic beating at my core.
Its cadence is one of a king’s
but it’s fragile and forged as yours.
I take your mortal heart in mine
and turn its brittle pages one by one.
I pick out the most sublime lines
and leave them to burn in the sun.
My whisper as wind to a feather
can order a world to its grave.
My touch; pure as spring’s first heather
can calm the sea’s wildest waves
and alter the blush of your face
and tear up the form of your grace.
I am a hellion of a man.
My charm is made of fabricated lies.
There’s crumbled ground where I stand
and bane scarlet demise in my eyes,
deceptive silver illusions at the tip of my wings
and an arduous truth in my soul.
Scripture will talk of the ruin I bring
with these abilities I fail to control.
I am an angel of a man
whose sins have caused storms of blood.
Fact isn’t what I am.
What you see are ephemeral floods
and stone cold, ghostly, crushing loss.
Shadows moving over trampled bones
and the massacre we look across.
The bane scarlet tinctured stones
the cobbles of the unknown.
I am an angel of a man
who surrenders sin for peace of mind.
I am an angel of a man
and those I love have fallen too.
Created in an image,
created by almighty design.
Hell is here when I open my eyes.
They can see too far and too wide;
details which torture my mind.
So look me straight in the lies
and watch this Angel Fall from the sky.