For a friend.

Where did my, black wings go?
Clipped by a stone, standing alone.
Stoic on a mountain's top, by the edges drop - amidst a storm, a cyclone.
She's only seen at night, under a candles glow.

Where did her, black wings go?
Her heart flew away, her soul, untouched.
Where do we hide for her to be clutched?
Perhaps in the black smoke's maraud, we wait, lay low.

Where she is, we will not know -
until the candle starts to glow.
We will sit and wait, forever more -
in hopes to see her at least once more.