Wings of black tell him he is a devil.
Wings of white tell him she is an angel.
In the dark feathers, she sees light.
In the light feathers, she sees dark.
Two beings, looking upon one another.
Two beings beholding the same things.
Each seeing the darkness within.
Each seeing the light of the other.
"They are not ready," says he.
"I am too cruel," says she.
"An angel," he names her.
"An angel," she makes him.
Her wings of white shine to him.
His wings of black shine to her.
Both could take to the skies.
Neither will take flight alone.
"A devil," he names himself.
"No angel," she names herself.
He draws a halo above her head.
She lifts his wings high above his head.
Both beings have their wings.
Both beings are flawed.
Beautiful apart, each feather will glory.
Beautiful together; a perfect contrast.
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The Mind
Mainly a record of my more interesting dreams that I was able to remember after waking up. (Apparently my uncontrollable confessions, as well. In the form of poetry. All to the same man.)
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