I see an angel by the brook,
Her wings ripped apart
By some vile, Earthly beast.
A tear runs down her cheek
And surely a tear down mine,
For in my heart, with the noblest intentions,
I wish that I could mend her wings
And wipe the tear away.
With a fiery fervor, I desire
To avenge her and destroy the beast!
I would sacrifice my life here on Earth
To carry her back to Heaven
In my arms...
...But who the Hell am I,
After all my sins, to think
That I should attain
Such divinity?
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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Request:
I love this poem so much that I wanna share it. May I please publish it in my weblog? (You will of course be creditted and may have the link...) -
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Thank you :)
Would you like the link to my blog, where I've posted your poem, with a few notes about what this poem means to me?
Thanks again,
T x -
Certainly. Go right ahead.
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Wow.
You have a real tallent. This is very provokative - I'm sure it touches somewhere inside every reader.
I wish I'd had someone around who wanted to mend my wings when they got torn...
Very impressive. Keep writing!
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Well, if you do get lucky enough to have someone who wants to pick you up and heal your wounds, make sure you allow them to. The last four lines are really a personal realization that the "angel" referred to in the first stanza would never allow someone such as myself to take her into my arms and heal her wounds - figuratively speaking, of course. Sadly, my open arms were turned quite disgracefully away by the "angel" that inspired this poem. I look at it now, and I see a truth in my own words that I never really saw when I wrote it. Thanks for commenting, and thanks for the compliment! I appreciate the support. Peace
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Ouch. I've already made that mistake actually.... I only realised it when I was writing about it on weblog. I had a very special someone who wanted to help me out. I turned him away. I wish I could tell you why, but I'm not even sure myself. I've learned my lesson now though.
Well done for being there, if she wouldn't accept your help then there's nothing more you could have done. -
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You're right. I had to accept that in the end - the whole thing boiled down to me wanting not only to be there for her, but be with her as well (I'm sure you can catch a subtle romantic undertone in the poem - it's a two sides of the same coin kind of thing - "Not a Love Poem" has the same subject of inspiration). She just didn't feel the same way I did, so she pushed me away entirely. It wasn't meant to happen, and I'm at peace with that now.
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wow.
i love this one.
but what i dont understand is that your didnt think you could help her.
you oviously would have such divinity, for the urge to want to help this heartbroken angel.
if this really reflects to how you feel in real life, help her.
angels need to be saved too.
this is my favorite of yours.
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Well, in order to help someone, someone must be willing to recieve help from you. The last four lines explain that I am not worthy to help an angel such as the one I referred to in the poem, so there is nothing I can do. That's not to say I didn't try in real life - I did. It just never actually helped anything...
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Well
It began perfect.The form and all.I could see the angle with ripped wings but when you got to the end i lost it. Poems shouldnt ask questions they should state what they are wanting to say not ask it.Pretty good though.
Please read and commet my poems.
Thanx
- alexe2014language: 5, rhythm: 3, subject: 5, tone: 4, form: 3.
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It makes a statement by even asking the question. Have you ever heard someone say "Who do you think you are...?" - That question connotates that someone has no place to say or do whatever they've done to provoke the question. The statement here is that I am not worthy to even attempt to help the angel in the first stanza.
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A really fine flight...
...of compassionate imagination, piano guy. The hurt angel device is pleasing to me as a reader - and as one who can feel into the heart of this poem. I can do that, I believe, because the poet has opened himself up in it - he didn't hide himself under opaque metaphors and puzzling linguistics. As far as I'm concerned, a poem that makes me feel something is a good poem. This one is.
I especially like those final four lines - the humble, honest self-awareness. I did want to read "hope" instead of "think" - might be a bit more of an intimate word - but it's just fine as you have it.
Nice read!
Lad
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