scatteroflight
Refugee
I find myself looking for angels in your eyes.
They are everywhere,
so I've been told and so I believe,
and I hoped to find them here as well.
As I push my way through the cold, dense air,
walk by the trees flaming fox-red,
I feel their wings brushing my thighs, my shoulders, my face.
And the light from their faces sometimes shoots into my eyes
and causes me pain.
They are everywhere,
so that I almost feel claustrophobic.
And yet,
in the one place where I look for them desperately, urgently,
in your eyes,
there are no angels.
I want to ask you if they were never there,
or if they left,
but I can't because I love you too much.
So I will keep looking into your eyes,
every day,
every day a little longer,
and perhaps some day the light will shoot from your eyes
to cause me pain,
and I will die happy.
They are everywhere,
so I've been told and so I believe,
and I hoped to find them here as well.
As I push my way through the cold, dense air,
walk by the trees flaming fox-red,
I feel their wings brushing my thighs, my shoulders, my face.
And the light from their faces sometimes shoots into my eyes
and causes me pain.
They are everywhere,
so that I almost feel claustrophobic.
And yet,
in the one place where I look for them desperately, urgently,
in your eyes,
there are no angels.
I want to ask you if they were never there,
or if they left,
but I can't because I love you too much.
So I will keep looking into your eyes,
every day,
every day a little longer,
and perhaps some day the light will shoot from your eyes
to cause me pain,
and I will die happy.
