29

It was her eyes that shone

onto him,

the crevice of his soul.

It then gave him the hope

he desired,

the reason to go on.

She was the blissful light

amidst darkness,

she’s the thing he loved most.

But, as time went forward,

the regression,

was apparent to him.

The wings would chip away

by feather,

and all good in her, gone.

She was nothing now, but

a mem’ry of

falsified perfection.

Crying out, “oh, angel!”

the fall from grace,

to her, unbenknowst.

“I wish you were still here,”

or better yet,

“just the version I loved.”

For he made her his world

that he gave her all the stars, the moon and the sun

yet she never, ever, even believed in him

and it crushed him for life.