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DARK ANGEL
  
I see the shadow form
      (true servant of God)
 The Angel of Death
      stands by the head of my lover’s bed.

Silently it flows
      as I curse my gift of seeing
           over her delicate form
Taking her soul
      in a sudden whirlwind
           leaving me only the empty shell.
 
As in a waking dream I hear myself say:
      "your mom is dead"
To our young sons, 
      newly half-orphaned,
           numb in my arms.
 
As months stumble on,
      and grief becomes me,
 her visit is unexpected,
      through a hidden door.

Shaking with fever
      (the gift has been given)
I fall to the floor,
      silent and still.
 
Listen quite clearly,
      the poet arises.
Waters of death
      flow from me no more.
 


GORDIAN KNOT

VIXEN

 DARK ANGEL
WIZARD
SILVER SWORD

ETCHED
   
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