The rain never stops
we drowned in mud
the crows pick at cold flesh
home to an absent sun
lightning nips at our heels
thunder laughing in the dark
pitied by the weeping winds
an eternal life of sorrowful songs
the cackling crows guide the way
feathers never get lost in the storm
when the gale breaks
the world breaths easier
might just make it to dawn
sleep among the rising flood
under the shade of ominous clouds
a murder of crows heralds the end
About the Creator
Hufflecup
I want nothing more than to dedicate my life to writing, so I figured I would start here to test the waters. I will be submitting stories to as many communities as possible.
The Golden Valley
The difference between light and dark could be as quick and simple as a flip of a switch, the drawing of a curtain, the opening of one’s eyes. It could be more gradual like the slow adjustment of the diaphragm on a microscope, the turn of a planet on its axis, the growing light as you approach the end of a tunnel. A flicker in the dark, a steady glow in the distance, a flash in the night sky.
By Alyssa Nicole5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Nice one!
Oooo, I loved how dark this was! Fantastic poem!