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A recorded reading of “The Broken Angel's Lament”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
Wingless you made me, a sack of fluids, a fragile vessel bound in mortal hues— stripped of feathers, torn from skies, grounded here where the earth is cruel. You molded me from clay and marrow, shaped me soft, then cast me down— a dream of flight held captive in this prison of skin and bone. All the thanks that will not prevail, all the prayers that dissolve like mist— I offer them still, though the heavens turn a deaf ear to this wingless cry. If I could bleed your name in colours, if I could carve my sorrow into stars, perhaps you’d see the shape of my longing etched upon a darkened sky. But here I remain, a tattered seraph, trapped in this sack of fluids and dread, whispering gratitude into the void— a hymn unheard, a plea unsaid.
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