Archangel

Perched atop the henge
bolted away in my tower
I gaze below. Men look petty,
As petty as their hearts.
I conceal myself in my wings,
the wings,which have lost flight,
broken and frail,
feathers ruffled and disoriented,
and glance around at my kingdom
where I reign solely.
With none to care for
and none to share with,
I and I alone, reign here supreme.
Thin strings of memories
fading away with each passing moment,
still livid and lucid,
force themselves inside me,
reanimating those days when I used to
shroud myself in my wings
and weep, for friends, families,
my brethren, myself and moreover,
for each tear I shed , futile.
When tides of emotions
used to run too high,
I would take my refuge
beneath my wings, my barriers,
and jeer and mock those tides,
which always gave up and fell back
to the unfathomable abyss they used to
exult from, in vain.
The journey of my memories
take me through the back-alleys
I knew not, ever existed.
Filled with petty circles of light,
encumbered with petty creatures of the night,
whose pettiness men squish
between their fingers.
Dwindling life-forms
scuttling under caved in roofs,
still putting the star of hope
on the acme of their christmas tree.
They hope in vain, I reflect.
Something breaks inside me.
Perhaps, the thawings of centuries?

Standing atop my obsidian tower
I give a final glance around long enough,
to etch the vista of my kingdom, for eternity, in my memory.
There will be no accolades,
no glory, just dust alighting
over my possesions,
to lay undisturbed till eternity.
I ponder,'Every kingdom falls,
and so shall mine.'
I gaze below. Men,
still petty as their hearts, stare back.

"Archangel, thou hath cometh at last!"

A smile burdened by the ages of
pain, escapes me
as I unfold my frail wings
And take , my final flight...