To Marcy Howard
Music brings us memory, yet we have songs of our own,
And when the darkness arrives, what will be shown,
Will we remember the past, or will the future be our light,
And if we hold the things that were, what use is there to fight,
Tomorrow is another day, yet an angel’s filled with pain,
As the hourglass pours its sand, and all will stop with its last grain.
In the darkness an angel flies, her destination not sore,
And when at times she comes to earth, she’s looking for a cure,
Flowing long dark hair, hides her crimson tears,
But does she cry for what she seeks, or cry for what she fears,
She whispers a long remembered tune, yet those whispers are a scream,
And as her tears touch the earth, there’s a plume of crimson steam.
When her tears cleanse the pain, with unfurled wings again she flies,
Using her slender fingers, wiping crimson tears from her eyes,
The darkness hides her winged flight, and few are allowed to see,
One day her tears will cease to fall, and I hope she flies to me,
And when I feel the falling rain, especially in the dark,
Its my angel’s tears I’m feeling, because those tears already left their mark.