A Writer's Words

Part 1: All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter

I used to think that she was perfect. All the village, and all the surrounders, and everyone but me seemed to compare themselves to her.

White hair, skin as clear as dawn, smooth as the silver lining of a ballgown. Ones used to proclaim, spreading news across the streets, that she was an angel; God's own glory, sent from heaven as a message to us blind human beings.

So, of course, I believed right with them. Oh, how foolish I was, to believe so blindly in fantasies that only one could fathom of ever being true.

Of course she was not an angel. For she was missing her golden halo. Her heavenly light. And, of course, the glorious wings that God always put on his masterpieces from heaven. She was no angel alright. She never was.

I think that she was a mistaken sort of angel. By our village, there had only been one other true angel. Same silk-spun hair, and laugh like a bubbling brook. Same eyes that shone like the sky, glittered of a thousand diamonds. 

Only, that last girl had been different. No, she was not sent from God. But her very essence, from the core, with her shining soul with angel wings, was pure and innocent. She was the only angel I ever saw. Her mangled body, sent back to camp, wrapped up with a simple linen scarf of a worshipper. It was still the same angel from before, inside and out, though her silk hair and laugh were gone. Her angel wings still flapped from her heart.

Oh, how blind belief can make one. But all that is gold does not glitter. 

Not all that appears to be really is what they seem. Lies, which slip through so easily, like water through a ragged cloth, are what makes fantasies tangible. 

But be careful not to believe in what is not.

For all that is gold does not glitter.