Love I - 7. he is my angel

he is my angel

mine alone, for no one else would call him so

he thinks that at best he must be tarnished or fallen

and in truth his halo tilts a bit to one side

and his robes are slightly smudged

and his wings, if not fully broken, are badly bruised

but he is my angel

and in his eyes I see his soul

and it is pure, untainted by the world around him

he thinks it is blackened, covered by the grime

of all the evil that has touched his life

but it is merely dust that has settled

upon a soul that has lain forgotten too long

easily wiped away by a gentle touch

he is my angel

and in his words I hear his heart

and it is warm and filled with deep emotion

he thinks it is unfeeling, frozen by the cold

that seeps in through its broken walls

but it is only healing that numbs the surface

as scars are formed, protecting the tenderness

that his self-defenses try to deny

yes, he is my angel

mine alone, for even he can’t see his wings

he thinks himself bound to the lowest level of hell

yet in my eyes he is above the gods

he alone can lift my spirit from the depths of despair

and carry it to a point beyond the heavens

he is my angel, mine alone

and in his hands he holds my heart