Black Crow

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Black Crow
By
Robin

Sublime sorrow, a black crow come to claim my soul.
Doesn’t matter anyway, since I can never more be whole.
Seeking the truth, but hanged upon a tree without a trial.
Scales of justice, out of balance for such a long while.
The blindfold out of place, and sight too much to bear.
Supplicant knees bent in a fruitless, sacrificial prayer.
Soul, bartered away, precious acres, for worthless beads.
Not understanding that worthless baubles can’t fill needs.
Flesh, flayed, hanging in tatters, flag left out in the rain.
Not one left to mourn or, in sympathy, feel the pain.
Passers by stepping over, but never taking time to see.
Broken bit of humanity, that once upon a time, was me.
Hollow scent of death, fills nostrils that can not smell.
Descent so long past, that none remembers when I fell.
The perfume of wisteria hiding the decay of its host.
Hope abandoned, happiness forgotten–just a ghost.
Sublime sorrow, a black crow come to claim my soul.
Doesn’t matter anyway, since I can never more be whole.

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