All are innocent before you.
All I have found to be true
Is let of go at the first sign.
Soon I am standing beside you,
Grateful for the visitation,
Looking on at my body dying.
They are all crying beside it.
How must we help them?
But they won't understand..
I asked if I could be an Angel.
I wanted wings. You said,
You do not want what I have.
Yet how little I remain here.
How my focus dwindles.
How must I fade and purify?
How will you take me there?