Almost

Love is a crown of thorns
that you wear your pain like a badge;
yet your heart rests provocatively upon your sleeve
as like the proverbial chip upon shoulder.
May there have been clouds of which you have walked in
upon which no one could even dream to stroll,
just as there have been stars of which you have held
might that they merely hope to grasp,
however there have been depths of which you have fallen
from whence no one would dare to know.
Alas your hour is upon us must we say “Good night.”
when you were already almost
- An angel.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2005