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Quoth The Raven:
January 5, 2021
“I am the living afterlife
An extant form of death
Decay and rot is my morning meal.
Black stars cut the sky
I fly higher than words
Only winds dare whisper where I go.
I follow your soldiers
Like the faces of innocents
Grief as a prochronism is near.
Count crows to gaze into fate
But gaze into my inky stare
And see that existence is unplanned.
If my tongue could be freed
The secrets of the universe
Would spill, like wine-dark tears, from my beak.”
© Jacqueline T., Flowermound, TX
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