ANGEL WITH WING SINGED

ANGEL WITH WING SINGED

I am a tired, fallen angel with his wing of fleece singed,
Just this side of madness and about to come unhinged,
A Hansel/Gretel look-a-like in the forest seeking crumbs,
The winter it is coming, the toes and fingers numb.

I am a lost and lonely drunkard with his bottle in the alley,
A suicidal artist fretting his final proof and galley.
A banished monarch in the snow, his army all deserting,
Both my wounded body and my broken ego hurting.

I am a city planner smothered by his ghastly pile of red tape,
A disillusioned superhero, grounded here without his cape.
A lone ranger riding alone on the dark and desolate plains,
Lapping up whatever squandered joy remains.
Here with my godsend Tonto who I hold tight to my breast,
Broken shell of the man I was, brightest and the best.

I am a weary traveler, doomed to wail and walk alone,
For sins I have forgotten that for now I must atone.
A woodman of this woeful world, stifled by his renegade rust,
In need of lubrication, for me it's Oz or bust.

I am a moonless meager shadow of the man I used to be,
Crawling through the rush of Noah's flood, alone on hands and knees.
Once a proud and sure adult who did just what I pleased,
The rain it falls like torrents, I am lost to the rushing seas.

I am braced for bradykinesia, the dunce of dyskinesia,
The hapless ham, the flim flam man, the prince of paresthesia.
I am numb for no reason, regardless the season.
I long for the sleep of forgetfulness, the sweet land of amnesia.

I am master of nothing but this merciless melancholy,
This Parkinson's mask, it cloaks my face,
I look downright tragic when I'm jolly.
I'm like some forest maple drained of all its sap,
The clock is sounding 10 am, and I'm ready for my nap.

I am like unleavened bread, I do not want to rise.
I feel the call of God again, I kneel and ask him why.
I pray that he will rescue me, restore to me my vision,
Save me from a hell on earth within my fleshly prison.

I am a tired and fallen angel with his wing of gold all singed,
Just this side of madness and about to come unhinged.
A Hansel/Gretel figure in the woodlands seeking crumbs.
Time is growing shorter and the chill of winter comes.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED