Another short poem from me. Like everyone else in the collection, it belongs only and exclusively to me.

A lonely and sad angel was spotted on the river bank, gazing into the horizon and into her wavy reflection in the water ...

She was Beautiful.

But so lonely.

Yet beautiful, but her look was lost over the mist of the morning.

So beautiful and sad, so beautiful and fragile, so lonely…

I felt tears in my eyes because her gaze was pure sorrow and

her melancholy made me feel empty inside.

She was beautiful in that pallid morning light,

draped with a misty shawl,

black feathers shining of hoarfrost.

She was an angel.

I knew it, I felt it.

It did not matter if her wings were dark,

whether her garments were not as pure and candid as gold,

but night shadow.

It did not matter if her eyes were dark and liquid rubies and not shining sapphire.

Her wet hairs were even more black then her wings and

they lay down on her pale and hollowly cheeks.

She was an angel,

a lonely and lost angel,

beautiful even if so sad and miserable.

So miserable that it was like if you could die by her sorrow, on that pure and innocent face… Fragile and alone.

Beautiful.

I could not help but try to get closer and look into her face,

glossy eyes, lost eyes

I did not understand where they were lost, where her gaze was looking at,

gaze of eternal melancholy and sorrow.

An angel with dark wings, corvine hair and icy skin.

My beautiful lost and red eyes angel,

so lonely in the mist of the morning,

so lost gazing at the distant shape of an old bell tower.

I preyed for the bells beginning to sing, to sing just for her.

I preyed with all my heart, all my strength and

thus I closed my eyes and began whispering silent words to the sky.

I preyed for her.

Deep in my heart it was as if I knew it…if she would heard the sound of the bell…

maybe…

It was a consciousness in my heart and thus I preyed.

I preyed for her.

Her gaze so lonely and sad, but so beautiful…

A distant sound resonated,

but the fog seemed to swallow it.

Once more,

now clearer than before,

still a fragile and weak sound…

but it was a sound of bells.

I thanked the sky.

She stood still and listened to that sound…closing her eyes, she join her hands, her wings trembled and twinkled.

When she faced down, her hair covered her face,

thus I could not see her beautiful features.

The bells were singing and singing and

I, silently, without even breathing, preyed they would not stop it,

because that distant and frail sound was so delicate that donated peace and serenity  to my heart.

Beautiful. My beautiful and lonely angel.

A dark wings angel,

lost and beautiful.

She turned, shining pearls on her cheeks, as cold dew.

She turned toward me and with her hands jointed in a prayer.

She turned and gazed at me, beautiful in her corvine and shining wings

And…

She was an angel,

a beautiful angel

and…

…

she smiled at me.