Trigger warning. This work includes themes of violence, death, aftermath of war, and scenes of carnage that may be considered profane, vulgar, or offensive to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
The Morning Star is already doing its duty;
shining brightly up in the blue sky,
when I land on the branch of a tree.
Where there's food, I shall fly.
The day is hot and humid,
but nothing will beat my thirst and hunger.
For food, I'm what they call a scavenger,
I will eat anything for I shall continue to live.
Live. A verb. To have a life and remain alive —
the total opposite of the scene right before my eyes.
To describe it as ❝dead silent❞ is an understatement;
for there's nothing here but death after detriment.
But what does a crow like me know about death?
Perhaps it's that I'm waiting for the Reaper to pass beneath,
and witness the stillness of a being after its scream.
I call it a ❝silent feast,❞ you call it a ❝morbid dream.❞
My beady eyes once again scan the scene below:
❝The Aftermath of the War: Secrets of Carrion❞ — what a show.
My heart pumps fast with a twisted delectation,
for where a battle once begun lies a symphony of desolation;
Shattered helmets, and exposed bones and flesh.
One haunting caw and my mates will answer with a thresh;
it's a language that only a crow knows.
Soon, we'll begin this unending banquet of bones.
A chorus of caws erupts like a macabre choir.
Together, we plunge toward the feast,
with a desire to bleach clean the skull like a beast.
The scent fills the air, a stench of sweet rot and bitter despair.
The sun climbs higher; time runs wild and fast.
My sharpened beak continues to pry the meat with ease.
Below the sun, my hunger is relentless — a cruel appease.
I shall enjoy this rare treat for it will not surely last.
Tear after tear, I can taste the rust-like crimson bloód.
Feasting on the fallen is an atrocious charade.
I consider it Nature's beauty even in man's self-made mud.
In this cycle, crows always reclaim what others lost, unafraid.
Finally, bellies are swollen, and beaks are gruesome red.
Back to the highest point we go, leaving the banquet alone,
except for the whispered secrets and broken bones.
Here lies those with lost worth, along with a lullaby unhanded.
BINABASA MO ANG
the uncanny
Horrorare you ready to be disturbed? to be disgusted by the macabre and morbid? to be pulled into a realm where your nightmares come alive? be the arbiter: where does reality blur and the mind's dark playground begin? dare to peek into the enigma between...
