"An Isolophile's Collection of Poetical Scrolls & Quotical Scribbles contain the depths of reality as reflected upon, by an isolophile who dwells within the vibrancy of philosophical solitude and artistry of kaleidoscopic mindscape and beyond."
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A Murder Of Crows, for eons a chanted tale yet its significance has not festered stale; despite many manipulations it has faced ineffaceable remains truth even if untraced;
abound were the fluttering clouds overhead enshrouding the land and beings devolved; a gale so fierce: a flight of messengers dear the omens heralding the cascade of tears;
for our mother nature was wounded raved having been plundered by souls depraved;
for they'd forsaken their spirits and hearts engulfed by greed they tore the wild apart; looted all the treasures, the silvers and gold hoarded a high pile of their collects behold;
spilt the blood of many who dare opposed slight discord and their lives were disposed; friends became fiends ferociously vicious callous, malicious with their reign atrocious;
though anguished symbols they overlooked amidst abandon they iced in fear: spooked;
unwilling to see their monstrosity, in disdain omens heralding nature's pain were slain; omens of death in folk lores they became yet the death of none but their own came;
as is a traditional custom of those who rose beyond ignorance 'n prejudices supposed; as is a fate of those rare beings quite wise in the hands of fools' mouldering edifice;
so beware Nature! Beware, oh glorious wild iniquitous have become your human child.
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A Murder Of Crows = A Group Of Crows (But one can't help but weave a few tales ;-)
