Fallen Angel


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He writes for a fallen angel
but the rhymes don’t appear,
not in words, but in stilted

verse, in outpourings of
watered down love. She spreads
her wings and hunts the night.

What the poet will not write is,
You hunger for your father’s love;
It never was, but may you find
through the spilling of my ink
Some noble affection upon
which to rest.

But I cannot touch your pain.

He drinks a toast
to the memory of her beauty.
No one wants her faded

charms this night. She stands
beneath a waning moon

with a single tear, a cigarette
from her too red un-kissed lips.
The cars no longer slow

down to guess her meaning.
She traces a vein
to where the needles brought

peace a million times.

I hear your poem, she whispers,
thank you
but I must be home to
where the razor whispers.

6 thoughts on “Fallen Angel

  1. Incredible! Makes me love her, want to hold her as a friend. I think many of us girls could be “Fallen Angels” if certain things in life came out one way instead of another.
    I’m lucky to have had a great family and will (unless conditions in life severely change) never have to turn to selling things that should never have to be sold.
    Made me think about women who life has been too harsh to, those that have become lost.

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    1. In my “dark” years, I knew many “fallen angels” (and no, not so much as paid company but as young woman who were a condition of the world I walked in” My heart always went out to them…when I speak of “I cannot touch your pain” it was my way of saying…I won’t sleep with you and contribute to your pain” I wanted to save so many, and some became friends, but you can really only save yourself, I and simply watched, in pain, as the promise of their lives melted in the rain.

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  2. Such pain of longing to help, very moving. even in your comments you are creative with your words

    ‘“I cannot touch your pain” it was my way of saying…I won’t sleep with you and contribute to your pain” I wanted to save so many, and some became friends, but you can really only save yourself, I and simply watched, in pain, as the promise of their lives melted in the rain.’

    That last line could easily be part of a poem. So sad that there are any fallen angels.

    Like

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