The mute angel

The bronze statue of an angel stood in the center of the cemetery. The wings spread wide, embracing the world. A beautiful smile, placid eyes, clasped worshipping hands. Wholly serene. The surrounding, a blunt contrast to the utter tranquility.

For years, it watched death. For every greeting, it wept inside. For every wet, lone eyes searching for hope and comfort, it smiled tenderly, a gentle reminder, never to lose faith.

Memories were painted, with hues of sadness. A weeping man, who lost his wife. Resting at the foot, poured out his anguish, returning home the next day with renewed belief. A mother, who lost a child, wailed, unable to find a soul who understands her pain. The angel was there, listening, consoling without a word, yet soothing for the grief-stricken heart.

But alas, there was no one for it to turn to. The burden it carried, suffering in hushed silence for years. When it cracked, no one mended. It carried on, listening and loving every single soul, wishing it could remove the melancholy all locked up inside.

It collapsed one day, a complete ruin. The seeking found no consolation.

But the loss lingered, untouched. The ruin remained, wasted, nurturing a wounded heart.

It’s a heartless world.