Carrion | A Poem

Carrion

Cold crow,

black crow

sits in the tree.

I’m not afraid of him,

he’s not afraid of me.

*

He flaps and

he watches

with dark beady eye.

He knows things about me

as I stumble by.

*

Bold crow,

black crow

feeds on death.

He knows it won’t be long

till I draw my last breath.

*

Patiently,

he waited,

while the action in the field

overwhelmed me.

Thus my fate was sealed.

*

Cold crow,

black crow

cares not for human strife.

Our woes and battles

are just the stuff of life.

*

His voice is hoarse,

his cry sounds

triumphant intent.

I look back with regret

and sorrowful lament.

*

Bold crow,

black crow,

my soul will be renewed.

For I go now to meet my maker,

my flesh will be your food.

 

10 Comments on “Carrion | A Poem

    • Thanks Γ‰ilis! Its funny, I wanted to write about the crow colony in the church opposite my house but instead I got tbis vision of a dying man on a battlefield keeping a wary eye on a crow in a tree. Its a very simple poem, but thats appropriate; a dying man would not have the inclination to compose something complex and flowery, I imagine!

      Like

    • Thanks Mishka, and thanks for tweeting it! I just realised that I tweeted it about 20 times today… every time I posted it on a social media site, it got posted to my twitter account… how annoying!

      Like

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