Death of an Angel

The Angel is old, and has stopped praying for the dead.
It no longer ferries, it no longer cares. Stone eyes are all that
are left.

Fables replace
myth

replace folklore

replace
tales

told in a frightened ear,
craving enlightenment.

I was with you until
the end. You were so ensared; with blame, with rage, but I was there, and I wept. You twisted in pain and shame, your cancer chipping at all you once were. Feathers fell to the floor as leaves in Autumn.

I would like to remember
you as you were, dark
and ferocious, punishing and decisive, glorious and deserving of prayer. I want every day to leave you to the dying. You become more human each day I witness you.

You whispered in my ear
on your deathbed: "don't erase me, I'm sorry, I'm afraid." I held
your sword to your chest,
and folded your arms and frayed wings about you. I will not
forget your tale, I will chisel
you new futures, and with
new stories, give you life.