Rhyming Resurrections - a teenager's thoughts

The Broken Angel

From a distance she was perfect. Slender body, widespread wings with a great form.

Look closer, you can see the battle scars, the splintered wings, scratches and dried blood. But when you ask her about it, she reduces them to a price she had to pay for being what she was. She sits on the edge of the cliff, watching others take a flight, spread their wings and fly away into the horizon.

She sits there wondering what could've been. The rest call her a joyous dreamer, but dreams are supposed to be good and pleasant. Her dreams were filled with what ifs and deep rooted fears she was too afraid to speak openly about.

She wrap her wings around her fragile pale body, the scars an everlasting memory of her past. She embraced it, she wasn't ashamed. She was just waiting to know what could've been.

One of these days, she feels someone sit beside her. She smiles, looking beside her but her smile fades away in an instant.

"What're you doing here ?"

"You wouldn't take a flight, its been ages. Now its my turn"

Said the beaming perfect angel.

it was her. She was free. Her soul was free of the restraints as it took a flight, smiling back down at her with a peaceful expression.

But the Broken angel still sits there, wondering what could've been. A question that will eternally remain unanswered.

But she looks peaceful, she looks beautiful. Another angel lost to the war. Another angel fallen.

The broken angel lives.