Ark of the Lost Angels

Winter _{(Credit: Ivan Laliashvili)}

I trudged out of the ocean,
Salty seawater scorching my lungs,
A reminder of my brush with ruination.
The weight of the water which clung to my body
threatened to down me in sand unsteady beneath my feet.

I witnessed the shattered remnants of a fallen empire.
The shining city on a hill
Now lit by the embers
Of the fires which engulfed its streets,
The night scored by the screams
Of its believers as they fell in the flames.

Is it truly a fall from grace
If that grace was only ever imagined?
Magnanimous in the mind
Betrayed by true unworthiness in the heart,
Stripped of the right to sword and crown.

I chose to don a mask in defiance of my own philosophies,
Branding myself a hypocrite out of desperation for salvation.
It was promptly smashed to pieces on my face.
My lips and cheeks bear the ugly scars 
Of the harsh reality behind an illusory angel.

If you saw with my eyes and felt with my heart,
Lived the agony of continuing the march
While unable to stem the flow of blood
Which so clearly illuminates the trail of my torment, 
Would you be so dismissive of me?

Stand before the city gates as I have,
Begging to be appreciated for all you have,
Battered by the grim campaign against the world’s cruelty,
Another victim of a thousand storms.
Would you remain so cold?

Judge only once your hands are covered in this blood,
And your skin bears the scars which chronicle
Every mistake, poor decision, and valiant last stand.
Perhaps then I’d seem less pathetic and pitiable.