A rare thing...

I forget once in a while that Angel doesn't know every symbol in every poem right off the top of his head. I use the dark-winged angel image so rarely, but she's the ancestor of the raven, of the Edgar-Allen-Poe-esque maiden, she of the blade and the midnight hair. And unless I'm mistaken, this is the first one she appeared in... Night Angel

Wings sweeping blackness and heart made of night
Eyes star-filled emptiness, seething with light
Touch like the night-clouds that lushly drift by
Hair like a filament spun from the sky
Clad in the cloak of a thousand lost dreams
Voice of an angel, and that’s what you seem
Skin palely glowing and pale as the moon
Promising heaven, you bring only doom
Smile like the lightning bolt shot from on high
Swift as the storm clouds now, Night Angel, fly
Fast to the world where the night rules your life
Steal away souls with your gaze like a knife
Bright as thy mourning and cruel as the day
Then like a winter wind take them away
Wings sweeping blackness their hearts will enshroud
Night Angel, bring each to your side in a cloud
Search them with eyes lonely burning and old
You’d know what you sought if your heart weren’t so cold
Night Angel seeking the thing you can’t see
The love of another, Night Angel, for thee.
			NsK 9-27-95

Extra points to anyone who knows who this one was written for...