III

In the midst snow it sleeps in black 

And the streaks on the window slowly crack

A black crow settles before thy knees

Begging for mercy, its pain to please

In the rivers so dreary, there unleashed a sack

The shards of ice cut through its wings

Thawing through shadows to get to the king

The crow flies o'er the red skies and floods

Its beak and eyes, drenched in blood

A cloud of gnomes float and sing

Waiting for the moon to fill the crows empty soul

It runs to ask the king for a small toll

Nothing but more hail dropped o'er thy head

Leaving the crow half empty but not dead

It left no path and it was time to go

The shadows brushed underneath its cold skin 

Crawling under trying to find a way in 

The whistler whistled in desolation first

Then the cloud could not quench its thirst

Another crow had flown free of sin

 

The piper and the beggar withdrew the crow

Then the whistler slowly stroked its soul

As the red angel played the harmonica,

'Another Symphony of Destructive Volta'

A mortician sang morbid and slow

Since the cloud could not quench its thirst

The silence of the crow brought it to its hearse 

Asking the death of the climate for the rain

The harmony of the devil conceived a maid

The veil swung before the cadaverous curse 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I like the use of the crow in the poem. The crow is a bird of mystery. The crow leave us with question and answers only answer by the journey to death and peace. I loved how you described each situation in the poem. The piper and beggar knew. To withdrew the crow. Somethings cannot be stopped. The poem held me to the last words. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote