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Flying Low


there's
six crows flying low low
due west in the cold cold rain

the weather builds skies fill
turbulent life and lies remain the same

everywhere I go
harbingers and crows
but how does the green ground grow

with all around this blackness

some days I go inside
to survive the winding streets
eking out and scavenging
what I can find
little scraps of grimy meat

not enough for a taste
I'm blood-hungry for a kill
in a place where hearts seem packaged
filled with waste
a list of spoiled ingredients
whose contents fail to satisfy or fill

six crows flying low low
due west in the cold cold rain

each winter's its the same story
its the same bitter damp cold cold refrain

why did I follow them
to this sullen land
to this place
pallid of heart
and empty of light within its skies

I am a crow and
a homeless bird am I.


Copyright February 27, 2016
ALL LEGAL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED BY THIS AUTHOR
ALL IDEAS, POETRY, PROSE, RANTS
are the legal property of this Writer.
LEGAL COPYRIGHT TO THIS SITE TITLE AS WELL
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt-a-World


work in progress





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