Stream of Consciousness
Crow Song
In a dark corner, where the night nestles, The echo of the crows echoes, sinister and alone. Under the cloak of darkness, their cries resound, In the crow song, the mystery sings. The black wings cut through the night sky, Feather circles, a taciturn dance. In the landscape of death, your destiny is traced, In the crow’s corner, the secret is kept. Burning eyes, like embers burning, They watch the earth, where shadows lurk. Among dark trees, secrets whisper, In the crow song, the stories are refined. On bare branches, their hidden perches, Guardians of the night, in flight consultos. A deep lament, a song of sorrow, In the crow song, the past echoing. In fields of mourning, where sorrow is woven, The crows proclaim what death has brought them. The dire melody, an endless poem, In the crow song, the soul is extinguished. Then, in the gloom, where darkness lies, The crow song echoes, sad, perfect. Between shadows and mysteries, the night reveals itself, In the crow song, poetry unravels.
By Eduarda Rodrigues3 years ago in Poets
If
These are my ponderings on what ifs. ►►►►►►►►►► If I were a rich man I would find the poorest people in the United States (my homeland) and feed them. If some of those being fed were cheating and not really poor, I would still feed them without question because that is a person with a broken soul who needs nourishment and nurturing. I would go further and find the poorest nations in the world and feed them also because the poor in the United States are not the only ones in need.
By Rick Henry Christopher 3 years ago in Poets
