Bea Hayden


Angel Of Death - Poem by Bea Hayden

But how,
How can emptiness grow?
There is no substance to it but it
seems to spread like smoke in a
car,
my body a hotbox-
literally that.
hollow and full of dark space,
burning from the inside out.

theres a sense of pleasure in the
burning, though it only laces the
surface of my mind.
A slight pleasure for me, substancial pleasure for others.
See, this hotbox is not only representative of the
hollow shell
i have become.
I seem to be magnetically desirable
as i burn slowly, drawing in beings.
the wrong beings.
Seeing only the beauty in the flames, they become blinded by
the heat, believing that I am
anything more than a broken soul
in a
pathetic human suit.
In the danger they find invitation,
they see opportunity to love and they do love they love like God loves the angels.

yes, i am an angel.

Topic(s) of this poem: angel, death, human, mind


Comments about Angel Of Death by Bea Hayden

  • Chinedu Dike (11/16/2016 7:48:00 AM)

    Emptiness is a reflection of sinister void without substance - considering the fact that nature abhors a vacuum. A well articulated poetry nicely penned with insight. Thanks for sharing Mantra. (Report)Reply

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  • Kim Barney (11/15/2016 10:52:00 PM)

    I like this. You have a vivid imagination. You might like to read my 'Butterfly of Death'. Thanks for posting this. (Report)Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Poem Edited: Thursday, November 17, 2016


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