The Night Angles

The Night Angels are standing like solitary mountains, as hard forms transplanted during the day. They are vanished like dreams, lost within degrees of bias.

The one shipped principles of Angles, like all visions is as Hurried Principles; The thoughts swept like sand in white foam, for our final words are measured in space.

Only the whip-lash of days end, this bring the Dark Angles to the night, to put back the broken pieces that have fell on the grounds of our longings, our possessions, our life.

Thoughts silvery,  shower of hail, words of images seemed to brood in the air,  benevolence of a myriad child, slowly stood in darkness, fish with hook, hook with fish-measured.

Music of our days, frightful as the serpents touch unheeded, faded in the sunset,  watcher of the skies. Theories sprouted in daylight die merged, conquered in bent positions.

Sunshine deep falls from the heart, as butterflies might rest, the Sun's snowdrift starts than ends as the world wavers, the circle of dreams-measured.

The Night Angles seemed like a thing of stone, the bitter tears flows like streams of blood,  tolling of bells upon indefinite stacks of souls.

Fate, the voice rings night as a bugle call, pierced the uproar like arrows,  reflection of a our vile future is now promised vision, carries passengers-measured.

The sun writes in red-gold, as blue blackness lies in our white moon. The terrible past day is afar, our dream gliding behind us as freight.

Ideas as project tattered books, breaks like colorful birds to  air,  strange night skies, as luminary silver pages of a thousand tears, falls to earth as others inspirations.

In Time Night Angels brilliancy harden, as the sky gleamed  stars, than fade to mist, solid air around me, roaring ocean of day is here, on board I have traveled.

The Night Angles crush by the earth into a million pieces, in the silvery morning of broken glass,  sheeted phantoms of day are now being measured.