sketched on her back
she’s got those angels wings
silhouettes of pitch and black
and he can hear her heart sing
as she crawls down the alley way
the feathers falling in the dank floor
her sun has gone and wasted away
and she cant fly any more
the feathers are brittle and cracked
but she’s still got the moons ring
as for the scar tattoos, there’s no going back
he just hears her heart sing
she gathers up the dead bodies
lying deceased, these stories themselves
she writes with their tips, they're so bloody
she knows she needs some help
fallen to pieces
falling apart
he just picks up the feathers
and listens to her heart
because he loved those wings
with them, he could hear the wind sing
every recollection of every night
she didn’t sleep, she just lay with him
and just to be there, shed always take flight
and it gave her meaning,
but look where the wings have been....
lying in the alleyway as she sleeps
and he cant get her to wake up anymore
she doesn’t breath, she doesn’t have dreams
and the feathers all scattered on the floor
he thinks she’s dead, he knows she is
but once again he needs to hear her wings
he takes the feathers, hands, and lips
trying to make her heart sing
she made his heart sing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
thsi poem is exellent i love what ur saying! ! ! keep writing