Monday, December 2, 2013

Coming To...

He slept
With uneven train tracks
In his dreams
As his elderly black angel
Sat by his feet
With her ink tipped white wings
Tucked in close
I was
Trying to get
Her attention
Without words
She ignored me
I wasn’t her ward
She laid hands upon
His tortured mind
Covering him
With feathered
Dotted i’s ,
Crossed t’s
Her stern nod
Tilted my head
To my own angels
With their blue scrubs
In super HD clarity,
Florescent halos
Calling my name,
Bringing me back,
Uncertain of the truth

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