Angel of Sorrow.
An angel sat and cried, cried for the lost and the fallen. Cried for the innocent and the guilty. Cried for the men and the women, cried most of all for the children. She had tried to save them. Taken up her spear to do battle for them, to protect them from their fate.
Her punishment had been to watch them die. Watch them fall and turn to dust.
Her punishment had been to sit for all time, her gaze upon the city she had sought to save.
Once the city had been filled with sound, song and laughter. Once people had filled the streets and the market places. Once the towers that reached high into the sky had been painted in bright colours or left white to gleam under the clear blue skies.
Once, long ago. Before she failed.
Now time and the wind had softened the lines of the buildings, the constant dust storms filled the sky and turned the it yellow in mockery of what it had once been. Now nothing grew, not a living thing was to be found in the city under the sky of sand. Nothing lived. Since she failed.
They had been her people, this had been her city. She was patron of this land, children had spoken her name in their prayers. But the adults had come to forget the prayers, had turned away from the old ways and sought power in a new world.
They had seen the wealth of other cities and sought to claim it for their own. But each city had its own angel and they rose to defend their people and their lands.
There had been war and the armies of this city had been shattered and the angels of other lands had held council. This city had caused the war, this city should pay.
But she would not let them; she would not let her children die.
And so she had taken up her spear and flown into the sky and done battle and she had slain her brothers and sisters. But she could not defeat them all and she was struck down and captured.
The others would not kill her; they would not shed the blood of their own as she had done. The city was cursed and that curse had fallen upon her but not them.
So it was that they struck down the city and the men and the women and the children, So it was that the sand covered the land and filled the sky and hid the sun. So it was that this place became known as cursed and only those struck by madness would venture here.
But if they did walk the sand filled streets of the city and listen to the fearful shouts of men and women and children in the wind. If they walked to the centre of the city and to the great market place. There they would find a statue and hear a new sound.
An Angel weeping for all eternity. A statue of stone denied even tears for her children.
Artwork by Keith Whittington.
An angel sat and cried, cried for the lost and the fallen. Cried for the innocent and the guilty. Cried for the men and the women, cried most of all for the children. She had tried to save them. Taken up her spear to do battle for them, to protect them from their fate.
Her punishment had been to watch them die. Watch them fall and turn to dust.
Her punishment had been to sit for all time, her gaze upon the city she had sought to save.
Once the city had been filled with sound, song and laughter. Once people had filled the streets and the market places. Once the towers that reached high into the sky had been painted in bright colours or left white to gleam under the clear blue skies.
Once, long ago. Before she failed.
Now time and the wind had softened the lines of the buildings, the constant dust storms filled the sky and turned the it yellow in mockery of what it had once been. Now nothing grew, not a living thing was to be found in the city under the sky of sand. Nothing lived. Since she failed.
They had been her people, this had been her city. She was patron of this land, children had spoken her name in their prayers. But the adults had come to forget the prayers, had turned away from the old ways and sought power in a new world.
They had seen the wealth of other cities and sought to claim it for their own. But each city had its own angel and they rose to defend their people and their lands.
There had been war and the armies of this city had been shattered and the angels of other lands had held council. This city had caused the war, this city should pay.
But she would not let them; she would not let her children die.
And so she had taken up her spear and flown into the sky and done battle and she had slain her brothers and sisters. But she could not defeat them all and she was struck down and captured.
The others would not kill her; they would not shed the blood of their own as she had done. The city was cursed and that curse had fallen upon her but not them.
So it was that they struck down the city and the men and the women and the children, So it was that the sand covered the land and filled the sky and hid the sun. So it was that this place became known as cursed and only those struck by madness would venture here.
But if they did walk the sand filled streets of the city and listen to the fearful shouts of men and women and children in the wind. If they walked to the centre of the city and to the great market place. There they would find a statue and hear a new sound.
An Angel weeping for all eternity. A statue of stone denied even tears for her children.
Artwork by Keith Whittington.