The Falling Angel
As you take a step into the mind
You shall see unfamiliar world
Where even the soul has eyes
For you never know what a dream can find.
Where imagination is the only rule,
We're right is paradox, left is ambiguity.
The images will reassemble,
To form an architectural jewel.
The Angel of red slowly descends down,
With every being turning to look.
The candlelight mirrors the burning sun
Lighting the night sky of the small town.
A bearded man halts while holding a scroll.
A clock follows the Angel of red.
A woman cradles her only child.
Another man emerges out the sky with a hole.
The lamb continues to play its violin.
Ester Belokurov is an 18 year old living who grew up in Scotland and now lives in Israel. No known or published works. She works in a kindergarten and writes poetry in her spare time.
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