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Edging On A Long Expired Fantasy Of Disintegration

by Wings Of An Angel

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Mr_Lamppost
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Mr_Lamppost No sense of despair here.

The music follows the poem; starting with echoes of surf and moving towards calm ambience.
Favorite track: Known To Escape Victimless Crime Scenes.
Steve Vance
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Steve Vance Music: the story of my liberation: +Painting: tormented by accusing phantoms +Titles: I soared beyond their reach, took their measure +Poem: and washed them out of my soul in the Sea of Reality
daytona73
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daytona73 slow, fluffy cloud drones coming to take you away
Eliminator
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Eliminator I’m really enjoying this one. It does kind of remind me of the album Spirit Dome with Steve Roach and VidnaObmana especially in the beginning. Can wings of an Angel make a bad album? I think not.
geebheart
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geebheart biutiful dank ambient, headphones on and let the music swallow u. great poem once again, thank u so much 4 yr creations. Favorite track: Reliant On Sleep Deprivation.
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about

I stood on the edge of the cliff,
Looking down at the sea.
The waves crashed against the rocks below,
And the spray rose up into the air.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the waves,
And I felt the wind in my hair.
I felt alive and free.

I opened my eyes and looked down again,
And I saw my shadow on the rocks below.
It was a dark and distorted shape,
And it seemed to be melting.

I watched in fascination as my shadow melted away,
Until there was nothing left but a puddle of water.

I felt a sense of loss,
But also a sense of liberation.
My shadow was gone,
And I was free to be myself.

I took a deep breath and stepped off the cliff,
And I fell into the sea.
The water was cold and refreshing,
And I felt it wash away all my cares.

I swam and swam,
Until I could no longer see the shore.
I was alone in the vast ocean,
But I was not afraid
of myself anymore.

credits

released August 30, 2023

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Wings Of An Angel Israel

My own identity feels like a construct, a collection of roles and personas worn like so many masks. Who am I, really?

Perhaps in the end, we are all just characters in someone else's novel, puppets dancing on strings we cannot see.
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