Angel

An angel lies in the corner. 
His wings lifeless, his expression somber; 

With eyes that see nothing, 

They stare coldly at the sun. 

Had he lived, he could have grown... 

But now it is done. 

Had he wanted to dream? 

Had he wanted to fly? 

Of what use is to question 

If his fate is to die? 

Grieve not. 

It is the world's desire. 

His fate had betrayed him; 

It consumed him like fire. 

An angel lying in the corner 

Is all there is. 

Young as he is 

He had to leave, 

And give death his precious kiss.

("Corpse in a Dark Room" is one of my early works using pen and ink. Can you believe this is already 13 years old? I did this while I was doing research for homework in the university library in 1996. This painting cam to mind after I had written the poem "Angel" at the back of my sketch pad cover also in the same year.)