Black as blackness,
wings a silhouette.
Sheen like oil slicks,
hidden Strings of marionettes.
Caws the beak whispers,
patters the black feet.
Watching and waiting,
when death comes to greet.
Hallowed the ground thumping,
beckons the soft beats.
Blood, sensed a trickle,
gifts fall, foil of sweets.
When souls have left us,
the crow it can tell.
So it's patiently waiting,
in the wake of the knell.
YOU ARE READING
Happier a little sad.
Thơ caThe book title poem, happier a little sad is a reflection of when find that if I am totally carefree, which isn't very often! That I do not get any inspiration for writing poetry. I wrote this poem that explains it. *********************************...
