Spirits With Wings.

To the heaviest heaven and to the lightest hell, or to whom it may concern. A measurement made of you and guided by fume, unorthodox in nature with a willingness to cure a heart whelming thought once known to be a disease. This disease also known to be me, un-wanting to believe I sat cuddled in three ugly blankets as a symbol of gravity once lost, second to the raise of each fallen lover, and thirdly but not least, to be called Spirits With Wings. If I am heavy, then your measurement is light. Heavy to warmth and burning to light, a cold hell that would forever be frozen. In my heart and in this heart as in your heart, I will stray. To the heaviest of heaven and to the lightest of hell. I have strayed.

I found myself in a study of mind, muddy in tolerance, completely ill and void of any justice system worth thinking to be completed. Somehow nothingness has become an apparition of majestic proportions. If Nothing Ness were a name, surely I could fill a name like Nothing Ness. A plain dim consciousness slipping into and out of new atmospheres intertwined as if some old women had lived one thousand years before expiring. Oh, what a weave that would be. Oh, what a blotch of paint we could smear!

Tell the guards I have chosen to be a villain! Tell Gabriel that I understand retributive justice and that I would die for him any day even today! Humbled I think, he would not ask me to die. No, no… He would not. For this I am glad. To be humbled, I think. For an angel returning to a blues filled winter it snows a gloomy dark stone of memories from many times ago. What stands in the way of a heavenly set mind? A light heart’d grin from many moons ago.

Humbled I think, to be humbled. I think.

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