These feathery wings flick past your sight and you see nothing.
Do you see the Angel wings?
They are always there. Right behind the places that they hide.
You need to search a bit to achieve perception.
Walk past the garden gates to where they hide.
Behind the magnolias and babies breath.
Their wings are wet and they cry for you.
2...7...4...5...4...3...
I can feel your heart pulse through these metal boundaries and I know you're there.
You're safe here but your soft and torn.
You're hidden like the angel wings.
Right behind the places that you hide.
Why are you hiding with the angel wings?
Why are you peeking your soft torn lips from behind the garden gates?
5...4...3...7...
About Me
- T.K. Rousseau
- I write, explore randomly around the town I live in, and I often forget what I was doing whilst exploring. I stare at the sky, night and day. I kick rocks when I walk. I sometimes miss the mark, trip and fall. I like water. I like calm music. I like loud and rambunctious music. I want to live by the ocean one day, preferably the Pacific. Not in a town or city, maybe a village, but secluded from humanity but close enough to see and touch it. I want to one day own one pair of shoes and live off of what my writing can bring in. I want simple living but the type of simple that is elaborate. I'm rambling on I suppose.
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