Where art thou, angel?
In the keep of angels,
perhaps this heart would yield itself true,
for all human trials have failed dismally,
with each heart bereft of all I know can be,
so when its time to commit, to invest,
well, there I stand, just me.
And love resounds in song and afferent breeze,
lilting sounds of heart’s desire,
and flesh is warm and passions high,
but living and sharing soon becomes a lie,
as wants change and far pastures plea,
for hearts to be released.
This cycle comes and goes, a bland recurrence,
and I caught by the heart’s flows and lows,
witness minds so flibbertigibbet,
they pain my waking hours with lies,
and hurt just turns to not caring,
for those lies so much despised.
Where art thou angel,
some heavenly visage with love’s sweet key,
to hold this wanting heart, and see,
to relish love’s potential seed,
and give me reason for this waiting,
this many times over aching, Mrs Wrong.
Tony DeLorger © 2016