Angels breathe, they hum,
whisper in her ear.
“It’s twelve o’clock, darlin’, and the moon is full.”
And in the dark she felt it leave.
The silence punctured.
Feathers bud and begin to sing.
Backseat maternity,
her hands cut by seatbelt slings.
Good girls watch their hems, father had said,
but this time we’ll make an exception.
And the night’s blood spreads on daddy’s leather,
as heaven’s pulled from between her thighs.
And feathers unfurl without their measure,
as trumpets cry, with stars in her eyes,
knee dug into the passenger side.
She stares and sees, through glass and sweat,
Angels a rosy pink, stretch their wings,
stretch their hues across the moon.
“Forgive me.” She tries to speak,
as Angels rise, tethers taut and then released.
Their wings stretched around the moon.
Author notes
This piece was written on-site. I hope you enjoy it.
A contest entry
- Abstract Poetry #38 - Initiation Of Hours - by The Cube.
500 points, ended May 23, 9 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
...
Comments
-
A wonderful write that shows you were truly inspired by my founded prompt. Thank you for sharing it.
-
Stunning
Wow, im actually speechless.. This is amazing!!! I can definatly see why I added you to my favourites!!
Keep it up!
Jess x
-
Grade A-Akito
You're one sick, depressing puppy. But that is why you rule the depressing puppy award. *Hands Trophy*
Good stuff man, gave me the chills because it reminded me of my car crash some years ago.
Adding your comment:
