Dark Angel

The fallen usually have only one thought: salvation. I have been summoned against my will to help one of my acquaintances, prevent him from spiralling down into the depths of depression. My wings are mangled and tattered, and blood stains my hands a deep crimson. If perception is reality, then in my warped mind I am an angel of the darkest shade of black. This is how I perceive myself, but in his eyes I am a being of great power and compassion. I have neither of these qualities, but when faced with his unspoken pain, I cannot find it in me to tell him that I am unable to help him. My wings are extended tonight, and the breeze ruffles through the trees as I contemplate what my next move will be. True, this boy is barely a friend, but he is one flower in the garden of life, and deep inside me, I know I cannot live with myself if I allow this one to wilt. It is expanding around me, this radius of death, a gradually growing circle, destroying relationships, friendships, lives even. This beautiful garden is marred with the black touch of the Grim Reaper, but to some, to those who live without the veil of ignorance shading their eyes, the garden is made even more beautiful with these deaths. It is a part of life. He expects me to move heaven for him, but I cannot. I have no power over the celestial rulings, and the Fates are meticulous at keeping the balance between the opposites of the world. As it is, I can only draw my wings closer around myself and watch as Destiny rolls the dice. I am a shadowed angel, and I can do no more to help these dying flowers in the eternal garden. *shakes head* I grow colder by the day, and even now as I am handed great power, I am disinclined to channel it to aid my fallen charges. Their lives are their own to live and ruin, and when they finally fall, my shadows will swallow them up into complete oblivion. Maybe then they will know what true suffering is. The darkness is layered over the world like a thick blanket, silencing all unnatural sounds. The night air is chill and the turmoil within me recedes for just a while. I cannot be expected to extend my wings tip to tip to protect the world from the sins of humanity. I can only observe, and what powers I possess to save them are limited by my detachment from their pain. A slight tip of Fate's hand here and there, and suddenly millions are dead, and millions more are born with each day. Yet two persons haunt my conscience, and I wonder vaguely how they expect me to save them from their problems when I, with all these powers at my disposal, cannot redeem myself in his eyes. My mental paralysis will fade with the death of Night, and when the sun is bright in the sky, my compassion will return and force me to save these two. But for tonight, I am the cold and uncaring prince of this dark kingdom, where even the shadows bow before my throne.
I have walked the paths; the shadowed roads that led to terror's breast.
I have plumbed the depths of Hatred's womb and scaled Destruction's crest.
For every secret left unveiled, for every power learned,
I'd sell the remnants of my soul, regardless how it burned.
And still I sought a higher wisdom few could have attained.
Though I found it, it would leave me - broken, damned and drained.
For now I find this power gained is more unto a curse.
My spirit burns with every spell and each irreverent verse.
Despite this strength and knowledge earned, I have paid a heavy toll,
Never should've traded power for my own immortal soul.
- C. Vincent Metzen