Fragile Angel

Fragile Angel

She’s a fragile angel
standing at the crack of doom,
Shuffling herself around
to get a little room;
Before she takes the leap
into all to come,
And wakes up from her sleep
to the sound of art’s dark drum.

Her wings are airbrushed, ruffling,
in a breeze that’s quite divine,
Her eyes are focused on a truth
that she can’t quite define;
But she knows that she can’t stay here
without playing her roll:
Chasing all that’s physical
in the hope she’ll lose control.

The picture’s written on the walls
the words are on the page
The dreams of burying herself
are from another age;
‘cause experience is living
and learning how to seek,
And art’s a voice she can’t deny
it finds a way to speak.

Beneath the old iron bridges
there’s a brick build canopy,
Where she’ll lend a lens a friend
and see what it can see;
She’ll find a way to broker
an image of naked truth,
That was taken from the gutter
with the stars her only roof.

She’s a fragile angel
standing at the crack of doom,
Shuffling herself around
to get a little room;
Before she takes the leap
into all to come
And wakes up from her sleep
to the sound of art’s dark drum.