Angel of the Glass

Darkness breathes swiftly,
On the molten window pane.
Humidity and humility,
Filling the glass with pain.

The glass; A fragile Angel shape,
Glimmered angrily in hopes,
To finally escape.
But tangled in ropes,
Of twenty yards.
Tugging melodically at her,
And her shimmering stars.

She’s lost in a blur,
Of Blue slipping sand,
That created her figure,
Made by His hand.

It's not much longer,
Before she shatters,
And He takes Her,
As she breaks; it never mattered.

Like a doll without a soul,
Never did feel bliss.
She makes herself feel whole
All wrapped up, like beautiful gifts.

She is creation,
And a home,
Of death and perspiration,
In a glass Angel mold.

Strike the keys again
Let them fall,
And when you hear them rain,
Like trickling water; call.

A silent echoing wail against the glass,
Piercing frantically.
You hear them ring through the past,
Diamond dust dances scantily,
Against the midnight skies.
With her and her frame, shatters,
All morose reality and lies.
Nothing really mattered.

Just remember what chaos brings,
Angel emerging limply.
Heavily, darkness breathes,
Through the empty,
Nostalgic glass.
Of withering window panes.
When He remembers the past,
He'll die over his claims.

Angel trapped behind,
The diamond dust,
As fissures streak like lines,
Across her figure's bust'.
None do remember your fateful death,
Into the smoldering,
Fires depths.
Where torch and flame built the ring,
And the angel sunk through blown glass.
As the dust cascades like a waterfall,
Make a wish,
That the clang of metal calls,
And glass and flesh will mix.