Black Angel

Black Angel

Receiving a prick upon thy finger,

rushing waves salt water there,

gathering words become to linger,

as the purple rushes with care.

Thous face grows ghostly and white,

with such news thys gone to the light.

Numbing travels like a heartless disease,

Thys life the Black Angel will seize.

Dost thou's thorn hurt too much,

though the stem knows not of it's thorn.

A drop of wine with just one touch,

As the Black Angel departs, you are torn.

Oh Black Angel, kisses thy cheek
and take thy life,

it's so much easier than to sneak
thou's stained wine knife.