The Writers' Circle

They sadden me, these Angels. They are so alone, and have yet to understand how close they are. Of course they live as humans. They hurt, and those short lives are put in slow motion in order for them to get tangled up in those earthly problems. It has been a long, painful struggle for them. They're souls can not cope with this environment, it slowly starts to take toll on them. They see, whereas others are blind. And yet some wish they were blind themselves, for all they seem to see is torment, pain, anger and sadness. They are trapped, right up untill I at last erase their names delicately from my book. How they will embrace death so easily...
And then, as delicately as their lives ended, they will return to us and be whole. Then, they will finally understand everything...

...

Nothing is pure in this place, everything is dying. The earth cries out to me, but i cannot explain. My eyes are tired. I cannot sleep in this world. I have to check my eyes sometimes to make sure they still show that faint glitter of who i am...
These petty complaints, i am past caring about them. They are unimportant. 
I know i have already let myself become to involved in this world. It is to late to change that, i just need to hold on to the purity i have left. Apache tears. The blood running through me, even as i let it out it is contaminated, but for a few moments i see it's beauty. And that is all i need for now.
Angel, it is such a misunderstood word. Sometimes filled with more sadness than hope.
And in a world such as this, how can one be expected to hope?
I am here because of my duty to others, and to learn.
I will wait.

And when i am finished waiting, i will be free...
For that will be my death.

And i will embrace it.