Elysium

There are places where the angels rest

White gowns over pale skin over pure hearts.

They nestle amongst the mountain tops that scrape the heavens,

And all the way down to Elysium

that is the green grass swaying, undisturbed

In the nestles of this world.

They cannot be seen, nor touched, nor heard,

But rather felt in the thought of a loved one,

By the smell of sweet mentality,

The vibrant colors of an open world,

And the sanctity of quiet sleep:

There are places where the angels breathe.

Reviews

[Noah]

Great job Riley! I enjoyed reading it

[Stevo The POE-t]

I'm sitting here trying to think of a proper way to review this poem? Nothing is popping in my mind... I suck at reviews... I would love to know what inspired this piece? This poem is really great...