By John Lorenz (jlorenz@cmc.net)
Date: 19 November 1998

ANGEL

                 ANGEL
An Angel bows her head, silent;
Shedding a pearly-irridescent tear; 
She has lost another dream.
That might have taken flight
Upon her black velvet wings,
Now savagely red stained and broken:
Romanticism raped by one more promissory Romeo...
Alas, she has been loved, then betrayed;
No more she thinks will come the delicate dalliance of love,
No reclining amidst green buds of pungent grass; 
No more waves of pleasure mystifying her opening springtime, 
No interludes of scented spirits; 
The dancing of yellow, white and purple elfs;
No opening of new sensations and soothing hopes:
But instead violated again by yet another brute male,
Who slings her despoiled flower in the mud 
With contemptuous words of finality.
Why does her heart grow jagged thorns of hatred,
Sown in fertile ground, meant for true love?
Angel will never accept any blame herself at all:
She will simply lie, hidden and silent,
While her wisdom remains ungerminated; 
Awaiting another illusory springtime ;
Buried in the bitter ground of a frostbitten heart.