Murder of Crows

-Murder of Crows-
by
Keaton Foster



Lonely does it go
For the murder of crows
A group of misfits
Unrelated heathens
Waiting upon death
Not for themselves
But for all else
Beneath their darkened hearts
Are endless guts that
Constantly ache to be filled
Squawking of the end
The murder of crows will not move
They will not fly away into the sun
They have come and they know
That what they do must be done
Servants of the end
Masters of darkness and death
Owned by no devil below or God above
Free to decide
And free to live with such decisions
Envious of them humans should be
But for such creatures of life
What they do and who they are
Goes against all system of belief
Lonely does it go
For the murder of crows
A group of misfits
Unrelated heathens
Waiting upon death
Not for themselves
But for all else
Upon the lines above
In fields set in rows
In trees naked and exposed
They perch, they wait
Fate will not be denied
For the murder of crows
And all creatures below
It is and has always been
Just a matter of time…





Murder of Crows
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2012.