Angel of Death
I always imagined the angel of death wore black. A man with pitch black wings that droop with the weight of destruction. I would have never imagined this image of liberty. A woman of maternal love in a yellow satin gown welcoming her children home. Long curls of blond hair falling around a perfect almond face. Yet here she is, embracing me. I feel like I have known her all of my life, though I could not tell you her name. She was there behind me through every storm, but I had never beheld her face. That is - until now. Now she is ushering me home to meadows of sunflowers and fescue. She offers me a freshly drawn bath, like a child who has ceased his playtime. Heavenly scents of a mother's perfume, cinnamon and sugar, curl around her in playful tones. Her wings white, and halo unbroken, not a tear has shed from those bright blue eyes. Whatever it was I had once imagined, forever gone from my mind.