Teardrops of an angel

Pearls shatter upon the rocks

With the swelling tide

Crashing against the crescendo

Of her plaintive cries

For the heavens

Will not open its gates for her

The clouds tremble and wilt —

Ashen billows

At her touch

And the wind will not

Lend its grace

To her desperate flight

From the manacles

Of her tainted piety

But in the ivory-washed hues

Of each lunar cycle

She finds respite

In swathes of obsidian

Unfolding new pathways

Of feathers shed

Where she will walk the Earth

Made anew