I don't believe in angels, but I feel this presence.
Present like a peasant hidding shamelessly in his residence.
Scared and shackled as I battle it's rare influence.
Never superfluous but always fluid in its motions.
It comes in embryonic waves within a symbiotic ocean
With tides as high as my eyes can reach the horizon.
It brings me to its seas, as I bow down on my knees.
It takes away the pain, as I bring it company
In the form of white paper and Times New Roman.
I try to rummage the doors of rumors and myths
With my gift I split the sea like Moses, and the I see...
The Ocean Walker; my angel.
With words I've said dangling from her necklace
Ready to renovate my mind then take its place.
To ship it out without a port
And hope it doesn't abort it's mission;
It sails away as a welcome this witness.
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