Ode to a Seraph.

Lonely is the heart when a loved seraph is near; my dearest angel, what is it that you fear? For I, one built in fear, hear the tearing; because of this silence, you winged beast, you rip my heart asunder; you castigate paradise and all it holds. There is decay, my beauteous blossom, and we are the largest jewel in its crown.

Your altruism stands tall, locking your status in stone, something I'll never bemoan, something natural, never planted to be grown. And then the insidiousness, the less than pleasant monster, grows, and it bears its claws so I see its flaws. Is my home in your arms of grace or the sanctuary of misery? That blossom was plucked from heaven but now its petals are withering; will my soul find a just home again? Oh seraph, it loves us, it loves us not.

Fate is in the flutter of your wings.