Precarious Angel

Daisie stands beside me, in the old school in the forest.

Overgrown and dusty, still some desks and scattered books,

and arcane and forgotten messages of cracked chalkboards.

The scent was of musky decay, and all faded things.

She takes pictures, and poses me in a desk beside a window.

Pensive, I look out into the afternoon, the sun through

the dirty glass blowing out the darkness to give me a halo.

I am a precarious angel. My adoration of her all that makes me human.

She walks down the hallway, looking in the rooms, quiet.

All will pass away. Someday the world will be as this place.

Me and Daisie will be in our graves, and will pass onto dust.

Will the grace of our friendship, of our strength together, remain?

Will the love for another, return to heaven, be eternal light in another age?

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