Fallen Angel

There in the dark cold room, emptiness and sorrow

Hung like a noose awaiting its next dying soul

Like youth that dares not to wait for next tomorrow

Was that broken heart suffering its greatest toll.

An epic tragedy of Shakespearian might

A fallen angel, writhing in throes of despair

To be sure he was indeed a very poor sight

Clad in torn attire with his dirty dishwater hair.

Done