Small Consorts

Black crows surrounding,
Shield me from light and bliss.
They tell me I can roam
Through the suffocating darkness
I know so well.

Entities from  beyond,
Sing a ghoulish song
To my ears only;
For the crows allow me to hear the sad symphony.

The finger of Death pokes and prods,
But the crows shield me
From an afterlife,
Casting Death's gaze elsewhere;
Extending a clandestine existence.

The crows are my friends,
Bringing me feathers and singing
To keep me from a toxic luster,
Civilization.