R.I.P. (12 april, 2036)

         when angels cry
         their tears become tiny crystals of infinite shapes,
         when the seraphims know anguish
         they whirl earthbound with the might of sadness, light and airy
         covering the earth in a blanket of irredeemable white silence

destiny chose that weekend in april 2036
the northern hemisphere
worst winter catastrophe from the Moscow ice
to Chicago, the frozen city
blustery winds blew westwards,
across the Atlantic, creating a sea of icebergs

         do you know the color of angel wings?
         it is not the color of purity
         innocence has long disappeared

falling asleep the car’s snug warmth
late night rest stop on a Scotland highland motorway
I don't remember feeling distraught
bitter winds shaking the windshield were a sure lullaby —
I guess I got a heavy dose from heavenly sandman
for exhaustion pushed me from wakefulness

the pearly descent of frozen raindrops
came in a quiet hush, somehow
resembling light airy cotton balls
in the hour first of my eternal dreaming
the car was buried under six feet of swirling flakes
so thick and weighty, silent and uncompromising
the door could not have been opened
no one would have been present had I screamed
in anguish; yet my dreams were peaceful
frozen immobility happened
quickly, painlessly

                                       later I awoke in heaven,
no visions of perfection, but a new desperate reality

         do you know the color of angel wings?
         today they are colorless and transparent,
         they take on the hues of the ambient air
         bouncing off a universe of grey clouds
         there are no more blue skies…
         they sing patiently for the thousands of newcomers
         only the words “rest in peace”




         R.I.P. (12 april, 2036)
         [2007.7.3...b]