The Weeping Angel

Trees dance to the music of the light wind,

Each blade of grass soft against the skin,

Dreams and ambitions of the lost float by,

It wasn’t what they said: free from sin.

Happy, free from troubles and pain,

Misery and poverty will cease to exist,

They lied and now there is no going back,

Back to the family that I so dearly miss.

A rich mans paradise,

A poor mans pain,

For a home without my family,

Is no home to be gained.

Here I sit,

Writing this lonely poem,

Heaven isn’t what they said it would be,

And a bullet is what I owe them.

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2 thoughts on “The Weeping Angel

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