Murder Of Crows

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A piece about crusaders , and their fate .

Submitted: December 02, 2010

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Submitted: December 02, 2010

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Have these clay feet , battered and wanting on this such weathered form , trodden this soaked , and stinking bog before ?

Has this unquelled , eternal heart , been cast out quaking , and dishevelled  ;  a spent and forlorned  soldier , callously sentenced by Cosmic insusiance ,

to reep such  bitter , bitter  harvest ?

Have we not all , done  ALL  thisbefore ?

I see .....MURDER . Yes . ..... There . A murder of crows is coming down  ;  settling  , roosting , watching .

On the strong and ancient limbs of the Olive trees they quietly flutter in , peacefully gathering their proliforating number .

They line the road to Jerusalem .

They have eyed the bold crusader before . They examine his countenance .

Like feathered apes , they sculpt from beak and talon , hewn  hooked instruments ; crafting  tools to snatch  the bits  they'll find behind .

They watch in stilted silence . The metaled band moves  by  ;  observed and observing , despised and revered .

The soaking rain beats down upon their  fitted  armor , sending crashing  droplets " pinging"  off  tested ,  bloodied steel .

A cacoughany of sound  sings out across the deluged plain , betraying  their approach to foes awaiting .

From perches high they watch the palid , languid faces ;  encased , and tired ; ravaged and worn .

Silently , they memorialize the passing rabblewitnessing .

Upon their flights of fancy ,  these  winged ones have seen the like of  sullen staring eyes before ,

They seek  to warn them of theirdark  fate rising . Yet never ; never do they heed the call .

The legend lives in woeful  winds ,  swirling  there  above the  clouded  hills .  In lore it speaks of  squandered lives ,  and fortunes ,

fortold within the blackness  of the Ravens  pitch and shining eye .

Fate lendsno return ,  from such Satanic folly .

The circle once started , must then be made complete .

The deluge ends most suddenly . The murder takes to  flight !

.Climbing higher higher, higher still !Circling once , twice, abovethe noble knights emploring !  The blackbirds rise now  scolding !!

Warning those who might be spared if only they would but hear !  Swooping down insisting , incessently , closely , loudly ;  " Go back ! Go back you fools ! ' Tis only Death awaits you  at the city walls ! "

Yet never do they listen . Never do they turn !

Now ,  through the coming dusk the setting sun does warm . A reprieve , and respite from the chilling pelting tempest .

" A sign lads !  A sign from God ! All is well !! "  Sir Winston calls , imagined hope reprising .

Yet unbeknownce to those who cheer , defenders  are devising .

For England they shall die .

With swords in hand in parching sand , and souls ablaze with righteousness they will fall .

Nevermore will they cast their eyes upon  the white faced cliffs of Dover , or set their comely feet  upon  that green and pleasant land .  Nor will they know the scent of  blooming  roses in the spring .

For England they shall die .

Comes the patient , bleeding Dawn , they bellow their last battlecry , and meet their waiting   destiny ,

while scolding crows still fly .

 


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