In the darkened room the peeling paint
seizes the form of a twisted angel
one wing shielding her eye, from the light.
Spilling through the corner of a window, a whisper
of sunflower yellow radiance spreads folly
throughout the dank dungeon, as it dances to the drumbeat of the rain.
The relentless, yet soothing, cadence of the rain
is a musical symphony Michaelangelo would paint
if he was a artist dedicated to the folly
of sound, borrowing the trumpet of Gabriel, the angel,
whose sounds stroke the sleeves of a whisper
grand and savory, guiding sinners to the light
of goodness. Oh how I love to bask in this light
stripped naked of wicked thoughts, as it continues to rain
above me and a brush of a whisper
on the walls resonates around me and begins to paint
all my sins; once the broken, now I am forgiven by the angel
who no longer abhors me for my folly.
that folly, my dreaming folly
which once covered me in a garish purple light
and now Gabriel, the trumpeted angel
flaps his wings in a celebratory rain
dance, landing against the window, a coat of paint
blocking even the crack, so that now the light is not even a whisper
in the room, The darkened room is transformed from the whisper
of light into the morbid vision of a stiff stripped folly,
a bird like creature on the window splashed with paint
and feathers, blocking out even a sliver of light.
Soon he must 'hit the road', venture out once again into the rain
on a prayer and a wing, once again the fallen angel
In my dream I lie still, as the fallen angel
comes to me as swift as a whisper,
so softly the pounding of the rain
seems to cease, filling me with an unforeseen sense of folly.
My body grows into a spiral of indigo light,
a vision of beauty, too fragile to paint
For to paint the beauty would be to dismiss the angel
and diminish the light once again deeming it a whisper
just a mere whisper of folly bringing back the rain.