Lost Youth written by Fallen Engel at Spillwords.com

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Lost Youth

Fallen Engel·January 10, 2018

English Poetry

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Lost Youth

written by: Fallen Engel

@BlackEngel3

Terrestrial angels hovering close to catatonic thoughts. I can overhear a cacophony of dead shrieks outing along the dark horizon. Your reminiscing echoes rush between the swaying trees spraying decaying vocal poisons. Under the virgin sky the cruel winds howl while the moon runs on its everlasting one way path. Wilted rose petals flutter on old piano keys and I ask myself, can I dream back my youth with ease? My hatred simmers as I age away and the ancient one numbers my decrepit days. This is the last breath of forever’s alibi and my life is basking in the shadows of goodbye.

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Fallen Engel

Who am I on this path but a fallen angel in the shadows of the night...

Ash Douglas

Ash Douglas lives in Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada. He works eight hours a day in a law firm in corporate finance, and the rest of those hours of his days he works on his writing. Starting a blog, Earth to Ash, almost eight years ago, he has and continues to explore all genres of writing with a special love for poetry. The stories and poems that he writes are deeply rooted in his youth, his family, and his experiences in life to date. A year ago he began a Podcast reciting poetry and celebrating all things written word. His journey in writing has garnered him many publications of poems and short stories and is delighted and grateful to be a part of a poetry anthology set for publication in May 2024. He doesn’t claim to be a great writer, but he is enjoying the journey of becoming one.

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Walter gently slides the still steaming pancakes onto the serving plate, then sets it dead center on the “big ol’ wooden table,” a name gifted to it by Natty, his great-granddaughter. It’s exactly at that moment the sound of the front screen door slapping closed rings through the kitchen.
A smile breaks across his face – that’s his cue – and he steps over to the refrigerator, grabbing the stainless-steel pitcher of home-squeezed orange juice. He clunks ice into a Mason jar mug until it’s half full, and then tops it off with the juice.
Just the way she likes it....

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