We Were Once Angels
The glimpse of our youth in our hazy eyes, we sometimes squeeze the eyelids shut so hard as if to squeeze our innocence back into reality!
The truth is we were once angels, clothed all in shimmering white, we glowed with all the colours of gold, silver and youth. The light of Dawn had no comparison to our splendour. On our wings strong and proud we would soar through the skies of youth not afraid of mortality. Mortality was a distant thought that plagued others but never ourselves. True it did but we paid it no attention. Our magnificent temples made of the most illustrious marble, was adorned with scented, crimson roses, white lilies and dark violets. Our statues stood tall and proud, clothed in silk, and adorned with garlands of the aforementioned flowers, the statues gleamed as flocks of people attended them with adoration surpassed by nothing other then the personification of youth itself.
Now we are old gods, we sit still and struggle to raise even one of our once glorious wings. We weep for the golden memories of love, of happiness, of youth. But we are old gods now. Our temples once proud, now lost in some forest of memory, in which spring only occurs once a year.
Silently we walk through our forested temples, we run our ragged hands over the ivy and cracked marble. We notice that our hands do still shimmer, feebly, but not with the light of dawn but rather with the warm, comforting glow of a summers eve. We look about our temple, through the canopy of green overgrowth, the very same light filters down, and illuminates the aged, yet glorious marble. One by one the statues of our youth a bathed in the golden light. Little streams of this evening sprite dance about their faces and bring back to life the memories, of battles fought, merriment, and people once know.
Slowly our last golden patron fades, and we are left standing in the middle of our temple, warmed by the evening, with the stillness, with the gentle silence.