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HE COULD NEVER TEACH ME THE HOURS

It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell.

 

- Buddha

 

Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=1a76FeV2-Dw

SHE TALKS TO ANGELS by BLACK CROWES

 

FALLEN ANGELS ARE FOREVER YOUNG, BUT MORTALS RETURN TO EARTH

 

A short work of fiction telling the story of a fallen angel who fell in love with a mortal ... They lived a Bohemian existence and roamed the world together like romantic gypsies, but mortals grow old, but not always and fallen angels may or may not return to heaven … This is their ambiguous story … I am just the story teller. The interpretation is for you to decide … ; 0))

 

He told me he was just a simple man,

ever since the rib of Eve when life began

I found him as he wrote his Book of Ancient lore

and he caught me as I tumbled to the wine-stained floor

In retrospect, it still looks like that's all there was

A simple uncluttered, unfettered life, a rebel writer without a clause

on the outside Bohemian existence; on the inside existentially rife

I was his girl and together we lived a single life

by that I mean as one; not in any sense apart

the unspoken knowledge lived quietly

hidden deeply within our hearts

we moved from town to town on the outskirts of other human lives

avoided the lies of smallville shame-hooded scorn-filled eyes

We hitched the Dartmoor pony to the single wooden trap

I hitched my skirts and petticoats up so as to avoid the wrap

of shackles that would keep me earthward bound

and heckles that would rise from less than solid ground

shackled every long dark Winter's night to him

his heckles rose with each newly anticipated breaking dawn

so why did it take me so long to realise

the disconnection from my seemingly contented gypsy life

was it something I couldn't even fathom it ran so deep

as the deepest ocean bed, even though I was his wife

in every sense except in law but then

we never followed that straight and narrow line

the confines of suburban self-made men

never bothered us or crossed our minds

he called me his little angel; I called him my prince of men

he said I talked to angels so I must have been like one of them

I thought he talked to crows; he had them in his power

he taught them tricks and they obeyed;

but he could never teach me the hours

he said I was far beyond the ways of men

that time had somehow left me alone

escaped it's notice, freed my bones

so wings could grow and I could fly

that's why he tied me to the night

by day there was nothing he could do but cry

he kept to the shadows as that was his due

the sun would raise him down if he stepped into view

he knew I knew what he was all about

no longer simple swings and roundabouts

he knew that it was only now a small matter of time

before I flew out of sight and was gone far from him and away

it just so happened one bright and glorious sun-drenched day

the shackles rusted right through in the storm-sodden night

and his heckles began to rise

but dissipated with the morning dew

the light burned out in his dark and solemn eyes

and he could see where I was at

and I could see that he was resigned

I guess he knew this day would come

as he stepped into the blistering sun that rendered him now blind

I tried to stop him, told him not to follow me

but he insisted there was nothing left for him now to be

as he freed himself from the shadows where he had clung so long

and crumbled slowly into the dust from whence he came

I shed a tear for what might have been

but I had to follow my destiny and leave him to his fate

I flew up into the blue abyss on newly formed wings as white as mist

but always safe within my heart,

the memory of another life and love exist

 

- AP - Copyright remains with the author

 

'copyright image please do not reproduce without permission'

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Uploaded on June 14, 2016
Taken on December 25, 2015