Shadow on my mind

There's something especial in an angel supporting a flower.
 I can be there, standing, looking at him.
People can walk before and behind me and they can look at me as if I was mad.
And I'm going on like this, here, looking at him.
It's a stone angel with a hand pointing heaven.
With the other one, as in a inattentiveness, supports a flower.
It's a stone flower. An iris. Grey.
It`s an iris that becomes a daisy, little and yellow.
A stone flower becoming a real one from time to time.
It smells. Wind makes its tiny petals shiver.
And it's grey again.
It's a grey stone angel pale as cotton.
With pouring water eyes that wet his bare feet wich barely touch the floor.
Not a stone hear his steps.
Never his shadow was seen on the grass.
And he is grey and sad again.
I can go on looking at him, each minute is a minute less.
If I could only get that daisy...
I'm stealing it for you.
For your hair.
That way you'll be my angel and you won't darken my mind with your shadow.

Pillow angels

Don´t throw feathers to heaven,
because there up angels are built.
Angels who cry tears of light.
And they can destroy everything.
"Everything" are only shadows
forbidding us to see any further.
Only sad excuses poured for the sun.
The big orange sun is the one
bringing pillow feather angels to life.
Your pillow smells like memories hiding bare feet.
You wake up walking on shattered glass.