Fallen

This could very well be about hidden desire, who knows? Written for 'inspirations,'

Deep inside me, I'm a saint,
With crosses dipped in flaking paint,
And grandmothers who touch my feet,
With all the lamb of god to eat.

My shadow hides a hero's face,
Which aches to feel that unseen lace,
But soldier-like stands ever strong,
Forced to know that which is wrong.

The watcher over cities stands,
Is forced to know the world's demands,
And longs to dive, dive downward straight,
No more concerned with foreign fate.

A memory that I forgot,
I forced to die, to die and rot,
The memory that would reset,
A world no angel could forget.

But guardians can't change the past,
They can but guard and watch and last
And be there wishing they could fall,
When told abruptly, 'that is all.'

In me, a fallen angel lies,
Who fell for clay and naive eyes,
A hated saint that hides within
A saint that's born of hidden sin.