The Seraphic beauty held aloft
the wondrous, silken horse-hair bow
and played with it the strings of my heart
like some fluttering, arrhythmic cello.
This, the ambient background music
to what could be a beautiful plummet.
A descent into sane madness
from a sad and lonely aloof summit.
Or, a savage drop. A suicide dive.
A shameful, rueful fall from grace.
That leaves my body as tattered wreckage,
and blood and tears upon my face.
O! That we could have angel’s wings,
to shield us from our drops.
But then, would it feel half as great,
if all the risky madness stops?
Adam and Eve underwent a great fall,
inspiring wrath from high above.
But went they about their ways with smiles;
in possession of free will and love.
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