Dying Fable

Dark angels swinging
In the everlasting sway
It speared the clouds and turned them grey
It’s not raindrops anymore
Just little blots of taint in a dying fable
Of plastic trees and unadorned wolves
The porcelain doesn’t make the same sound when it breaks
The frail isn’t real with shells
They all come undone

Deaf fairies rest by their own spells
As the little creatures walk by the dry lake
To the sound of a dead opera
Interpreted by a broken rusted star
Sadly adored

And the mystery we all should seek to find
It’s the beauty we left behind to die