Thank you to Editor Mark Antony Rossi for publishing my poem today.

Cloaks of Crows

 

There’s intrigue in the dark

while ravens beam along a smooth road,

over bitter ground,

with a fleet of storms gathering

from right behind the rift.

 

Cloaks of crows,

worn by desperados,

telling lies of cunning.

 

The door of night opening,

closing the gate on day,

creating a deep design

of gloom at our feet.

 

Their caws make no mention of champions who spread love,

or win modest victories for good,

make no mention of

who collates albums of happy pictures.

Instead, all successes lie dormant under a bleak sky.

 

Crows ignore what brightness swings from cords in dark regions,

ignore those bells tolled by those 

who wish to live in harmony rather than combat,

until they realize it’s no fun being an outlaw.