phoenixchild

my diseased angel
R J T

many grains of sand have fallen
many many cuts became scars
many choices still torture my soul

my tortures are like field of ridged rocks
my field of rocks are countless in variety
my feet are strong but some rocks never get dull

when the inhouse guide feared guiding
when I was my own guide
when one dared to guide

one who was intensly slave to white demons
one that loved nurturing more than any beast
one that guided one who didn't desire a guide

the egg saw only a mirror
the mirror and her gave many scars
the scars are the only teachings

why was respect never said
why did I not reverend my diseased angel
why was that sacred title never placed

if I could only tell that holy title to his face
if I could trade the demon egg for my diseased angel
if only the black dog had a soul


this poem was written to my stepdad my true father and my depest regret