deepundergroundpoetry.com

Crows.

Nestle in,    
mere baby bird in mother's nest.    
Shot.    
Shot in the breast of the nest by a tracker.    
Shot down by the hunter.    
Shot down by the man with insomnia, no rest    
for the wicked.    
   
Baby-bird with broken wing.    
Baby-bird is tongue-tied.    
Baby-bird with broken leg.    
Never walk, never fly.    
His thoughts float across an obsidian sky  
flash-shots of babies of his own. 
These thoughts wake up alone,  
cover their dreamy eyes  
and pretend they're still sleeping.  
It'll never be his time.  
   
Mother stands,    
tilts her head and walks
around the body.    
Mother squarks
and stares for a moment,
taking a memento,
a photo in her mind of the broken thing.   
Finally she slams her beak into it's skull
and pulps it's brain    
until    
it's brain is a stain, a token to the soil.  
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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