A girl with raven feathers drifts
Past the smoke the flames have left
Expected her to accept their gift
She perches on a fence and smiles
At a sunset that stretches for miles
Resembling the blazes that smoldered piles
Of her wooden soul, her heart, her love
And sent it billowing above
Suffocating owls and doves
Her once-red feathers, now black with tar
The gentlest raven I've met so far
With eyes like sun and handfuls of stars
She looks so sad, so old and bleak
But she just has a broken beak
From which she aches but cannot speak
Her ashen heart still sending floods
Of poetry throughout her blood
And her hands are soft like flower buds
But everyone sees her and assumes
She loves to turn joy into doom
And perch upon her mother's tomb
While cawing at the rising moon.
YOU ARE READING
Jars of Stars
RandomThis is a collection of the poems I've typed up on my iPad. I've noticed I enjoy incorporating nature and space into my poetry, so if you dig nature and space read my poems! Some of them are dark, some are brighter, some rhyme and some are just word...
