Saint Anger

Anger. Saint anger. 
I sit below the tree and call to you
The heather is sharp, green stems and purple blossoms as I wade towards the shore
Hurts. It hurts that beauty calls for my pain 
It's always been so, beauty calls out my name
Saints-decimation. Angels decry my existence. 
Watchers. I'm one. My feathers cry for you. 
From my lofty perch, my gaze is confounded by your relent. 
Save you I might. Save you I might.