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Crows

October 22, 2010
By JokersDaughter SILVER, Leominster, Massachusetts
More by this author
JokersDaughter SILVER, Leominster, Massachusetts
8 articles 1 photo 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
I may not be perfect. But then again, I'm sure someone on the earth feels I am.

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We flock like birds,
toward another's pain,
feasting upon,
the crimson rain.

The cool blade,
dulls against our hearts,
silencing all of us,
like a form of simple art.

Bathing in this sea of madness,
we are but ravens,
slipping into madness.

Shrill screams,
falling from our lips,
as the bright gleam,
cuts into our hips.

We are alone in this world,
mourning the losses,
of our baby girls.

© Steven S., Marblehead, MA

The author's comments:
I just wrote this one day when I was in History class, and I was wicked bored. The deeper meaning is that when something bad happens to someone, everyone flocks around that one person. The crimson rain is blood, as if a girl is cutting herself. When someone has problems, people who normally would be very mean to them, act like their friend. But when it all dies down, they still have the same amount of enemies as before, and the people who once acted nice, will go back to being pesky crows.
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