Where the Crows Remember

Where the Crows Remember

The branches stretch like broken hands
Across a cold and silent sky.
Black feathers gather without sound,
As if they know the reason why.

The forest wears a weary face,
Its roots are wrapped in ancient pain.
Each winding path forgets the sun,
Each season ends the same again.

The crows return before first light,
They perch where lonely voices fade.
Their watch has never truly ceased,
Within the shelter branches made.

The moon hangs pale above the trees,
A witness none can turn away.
Its silver glow reveals the scars,
That daylight keeps concealed each day.

The wind moves softly through the limbs,
Like quiet words too old to hear.
It carries names long left behind,
Still drifting through another year.

I walk beneath those hollow boughs,
No footsteps follow where I roam.
The earth remembers every tear,
Yet never offers welcome home.

Each crow has seen a thousand storms,
Each wing has crossed a darker sky.
They never ask what brought me here,
They simply watch the hours die.

When morning breaks beyond the trees,
The forest keeps what I have known.
The crows remain upon the limbs,
While I walk back through life alone.

#Marie381UkWriter