The angels are flying, over head.
No one can see them, only the dead.
The calm of the night, whispers my name.
Holds me so softly, yet drives me insane.
Where am I at now, in this life that is mine?
Do I standout? Do I sparkle or shine?
Will you call me yours?
Can I call you mine?
In this life that we hold dear,
For our precious little time,
Could be cut short, demolished,
Lost in the blink of an eye.
No one can tell if it is your time or mine.
Only deny that one day it will arrive.
We cannot hide,
For death will catch up.
In just a matter of time,
Before we are all hidden,
In the very ground,
We stand on, Walk on each day.
Six feet down.
what do you think ???
Comments
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of course yu can call me yers
i loooooooove this one and totally jealous that im not as talented as you
yer a jerk but i love yu ne ways 
this is like perfect!
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Interesting...I love how you've wriiten on so many levels..only the dead can see the angels, yet they are buried right beneath us. Deep.
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