Here’s to the angel on my shoulder,
Here’s to the voice that tells me all is well.
Well I remember the sound of tearing wings
The day my lovely angel fell.
The falling angel that landed on my shoulder;
The voice I hear when I’m alone;
Not so high as some saintly soulless seraphim,
Nor a darkling demon, he’s not that low.
Between heaven and hell my falling angel tumbles,
Though his charming voice never grows colder,
So over the sound of vanishing wings
I toast the angel on my shoulder.
One whole year of ‘The Hapless Neo-Romantic’! It’s been incredible, doing three poems a week since that first poem ‘On Unknown Tides’. I like to think that the tides are a little less unknown now – a lot has happened in that year. I’ve met lots of interesting people (You know who you are), done lots of interesting things (including an opera, numerous comedy shows, and an Edinburgh Fringe show), and hopefully got a bit better at poetry. Thanks for all of your support – hopefully I’ll make it to another year!
Kind regards, and a thousand thanks,
The Hapless Neo-Romantic