The wind blows through my hair,
the dust rolls across the ground.
I watch the weakling totter,
falling down onto one side.
It's not just I who've seen it,
he has been watching all along.
He heads for the pathetic creature,
letting out a peircing cry.
Standing above that fallen thing,
his limbs are likened to a pall.
And drawing closer he begins,
in his torment of the dead.
Nothing is sacred, nothing is safe,
it eats the things in the bowels.
It picks it's way through the eyeballs,
that rapist they call the crow.
Author notes
I know this is entirely unlike my other works, I don't plan to make this a direction. It is based on a memory from when I was 11. I also have to thank Dawn for the crow-based inspiration.
Written May 24th, 2005
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