Touching Angels

Touching Angels

The nascent colors of dawn melt,
pooling in a brilliant sky of
azure.

The mountains call me with whispered
voices. Their cold breath condenses
in clouds.

As I climb, the reflected sun
paints heavenly halos in my
vision.

The exertion leaves me panting
as I reach the pinnacle and
pause.

The solitude is broken by
the faint voices of the heavens
singing.

Stretching upwards, I strain toward
the source only to fail and fall
backwards.

--------------------

Rising from my alabaster
bed, I peacefully wait for an
answer.

Turning, I see that where I fell
in the snow's the image of an
angel.



Notes
An entry for day four of "Invalid Item" 
Prompt: Image
Form: "Synchronicity" (The state or fact of being synchronous or simultaneous; synchronism. Coincidence of events that seem to be meaningfully related.). This form consists of eight three-line stanzas in a syllable pattern of 8/8/2. This poetry type has no rhyme and is written in the first person with a twist. The twist is to be revealed within the last two stanzas.

Thank you for reading my words. Please, take a moment and leave a comment – your reaction, criticisms, thoughts, yes – even praise – all are equally welcome.

Ken