Season of the Crow By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
The ground which I lay is cold and damp
My whole body is hollow in its presence and might
Wet ears are tight-pressed and all is still,
but the calm giant has no heart
I lay blindly and wait for death, like it has come so many times before
But something differs
Frozen grass, brushed by morning dew, tangles between my toes
It scratches my shirtless back
The tardy taste of dirt consumes me,
the gleam of lost sun pins me down
'neath the flowers I am motionless;
Their smell, their essence, their bed and mine
Seeking life so gracious, so delicately
It comes forth all around me, roaring, engulfing like the drowning sea
Forever gently the coo of mouning doves entrances
Like the piper, they promise to lead me
I follow, for I am blind; it is all I have ever been
The cold unbearable, yet the glare of golden light overwhelming
Thus I Rise, reborn
The birds disperse with the snap of a humble twig
Downy clouds make way 'til crimson sky is clear
For I am dust and they the wind
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