The soft sway of dew bestowed grass in the breeze.
It signals the Hunters with Fangs to gather.
The silver moon looks on with impassive ease.
As the dreaded Predators begin to descend.
I cry out a warning to my brothers in the trees.
But they forsake me for the Serpents have mesmerized their eyes.
With pretty words they hiss into our souls, and I watch as carnage unfolds.
My brothers die one by one, obsidian feathers floating gently in blood-soaked starlight.
So, with heavy breast I leave my flock.
They chose their fate when listen they did not.
I take flight above dancing anemone and flee the bloodied remnants of swirling memories.
To see the Truth where others dare not fly is my Blessing and Curse.
My wings gleam silver in the shimmering gaze of the impassive moon.
And I hear the demon screams of the Hunters with Fangs as blood speckled flowers sing my fame.
YOU ARE READING
Ripples in an Obsidian Sky
PoetryThese are many of the poems that get stuck in my head randomly, almost like a song or beat poetry in a way. I must warn you, most of them can be rather dark or sad. But I find solace in writing them. Anyway, maybe they can help you get some peace t...
