Angels' Muse
By FranticFad
Under a quiet silvery moon, a sharp sting of winter's ire nipped my stinging red flesh, a single cold candle cast a pale, wan light; setting fire to a scene of stark, beautious delight. Heavy raven curls glowed in the flickering light, setting frame to the dazeling, steel blue eyes. Pale umber flesh glowing softly bemused, the warm shadows held close, the warmth of friend, poet, and muse. Sidelong swept into the heart of my quivering soul, she tempted with no womanly charms of warm lips and soft breast, but instead seduced my vision and sight, wielding great burning words of prose and insight. She shared not the tepid promise of lust, but instead the truth of honor and trust. Injured and frail, her bruised heart beats still true. A tired worn angel, heady gift in my view, she carries the grace of a lifetime or two.Sometimes you look for what you think you want, only to find that which you truly need. Then you learn that those things which you do need come powerfully into your life, bringing great promise and deanding of your heart, great honor and responsibility. Written April 18th, 2002 © on Apr 18 2002 01:16 PM PST 10 • 0 • 8
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"Under a quiet silvery moon, a sharp sting of winter's ire nipped my stinging red flesh, a single cold candle cast a pale, wan light; setting fire to a scene of stark, beautious delight...."