*
Cold and pale a fragile face;
Poised no longer with dignity and grace,
A broken angel with broken wings,
A sad story, melodically he sings.
*
A voice of pain; of one forsaken;
Who in the darkness shall not waken,
From sleep and dreams, where all is fair,
And starlight shines upon silver hair.
*
Hands cupped, within water shone,
In sweet death his fears were gone,
And he could look into his eyes,
With out seeing his emotion clouded by disguise.
*
His voice will linger always and forever,
A hidden message, of how together,
They could have saved is misjudged life,
His hand, instead wielded the steel knife.
*
Sharpened blade pierced his delicate hand,
The physical pain he could withstand,
The blade slid and cut his veins,
Unshackling him from his earthly chains.
*
His blood ran free, upon the floor,
There to lie forever more,
His life was gone; ebbed away,
The blooded blade on the floor to stay.
*
His own hand, made the killing stoke,
The delicate soul at once was broke,
His watery eyes were dulled forever after,
His life blood took with it, his dying laughter.
*
At the ends of time he will return,
And those who forsook him forced to learn,
That the pale angel suffered inside,
Uncared for, and unloved by anyone, he died.
