Sad Mug

                      SAD MUG

When angels rise, there is a concern with the watcher of loneliness who has tasted everything we would know. A state that yearns for companionship. After an endless winter frost, it lingers into a lonely, indescribable, lifeless cry of the night. 

 All alone, wrapped in black nylon, shades of the moonbeam, between the curtains; elegy goes the night. But for those murmuring angels,

Less than a chant: shorter than an echo. We find no place for us.

The root knows your name;

Your past self keeps falling to pieces into isolated spaces, an endless road searching for a diversion to the secret you keep; all those distant objects, 

As ice reflection in your blurry night.

Angels deliver the message you refuse to embrace.

Stop in time, open your eyes above the surface, and run immobilize.

Decay of accumulating, nothingness;

In desperation. Birds with the blackest heart, a sad mug sinks very deeply and weeps.