As The Crow Flies...

God given uniqueness is His gift

As the crow flies...

There is no song

Nor messege wrought

A celebration at the dawn 

Neither deeper meaning sought

As the crow flies...

Plagued by meager things

Such a simple tone, be it a charred and blackened note

A yoke, thus shadowing

As plume of hood and cloak

As the crow flies...

So does more we know unseen

Like our conscience all alone

A gentle wind unexpectedly a violent breeze

Sole companion beneath the din of monotone 

As the crow flies...

Continues to seek harmony 

In midst of falsetto lies

Guiltless, unbiased, arbitrarily  

Yet, by and by, on and on through the night

          Never surrenders it's "caws" to another's life

Reviews

[Bright Ocean Star]

Brilliant! I love the use of the Crow. Edgar Alan Poe would be tickled to read this. You used this particular tool to perfection. I'm saving this in my favorites file. Thank you, Michael.

[Michael G. Smith]

You know it's a funny thing. I have numerous towering oaks which pepper my acreage and they are wayward points for many blackbirds on their journey. Some are silent as dark stone statues staring with pearl eyes and others are boisterous like children on a playground. Often as busy myself in their presence I truly believe they are speaking directly to me if not out and out mocking me as if I am a punchline to some inside joke shared among the flock.