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Sprocket my plane A Blaze


poem that goes with painting-The Rise And Fall Of The Mechanical Angel
He was one who walked with a sightless halo apone is crown and a commandence in his step's he was yet again thrown into a meaningless battle to one he had no choice. on his shoulders he carried the weight of his world apone his cold vibrating wings. Which cut through the flames of the sky and glowed within their cinders. He is Atlas a name quite suited to his situation. The planes are blaring through the flames of the sky running on the hearts light and fall with that light when snuffed out the planes plummet to the earth one by one atlas runs through the fire on the nose of a to be fallen plane he has been the main martyr in this scene to many times it seems as almost a loped repeating dream for him. So one need not pay much attention especially him. This dance of his battles is a time he takes to lament on things it's the only time he ever has for such things to go through the tribulations of his heart. This battle in particular brings a familiar silence within him as he looks over his time and ponders was it worth anything at all? Did I use my heart for the right reasons? Was my light false? And I am tired of this so very tired I wish I could just sleep and fade with the embers. He jumps high of the nose of the burning plane and soars high into the sky through all the emulsing smoke fire above the clouds he still in the silence of his mind and his wings rip through the clouds and he is enveloped by the Ivory light of the moon and he in his silence awakens by a shot blown in his heat and a sight of a gun to his chest with en enemy on the nose of a steaming amber lighted war machine he sees the dismay on his face through the enemy goggles and doesn't recognize himself as the same person but see himself as a shell of that person the bullet go's through him and his wings don't head his call any more he's..... now falling through the ashend clouds his ventures flash before his eyes and his wings begin to heat creating a flam apone his back he takes the silhouette of a falling angel.... And plummets to the earth.

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Yeesh, looks like he ran into a bit of trouble. Anyway, this is poetic without the poem, and you colored the flames nicely.

Credits & Info

Waiting for 5 more votes

Jun 7, 2012
7:33 PM EDT
Fine Art
File Info
835 x 956 px
318.7 KB

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