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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Contest Entry · #2207747
The sky fills with their black feathers and makes me want to fly.
The Murder Of A Dream

They split the air with their caws,
their cries,
heard much sooner than
they become seen.
Those birds of black,
their wings far spread;
a murder of crows
that streak across
in waves of black
in a cloud-drenched sea.
How I wish I could fly with them
up in the sky!
I’d take a step and there I’d glide,
the weight that hangs heavy
above it I’d be lifted.
But no feathers,
no wings
have I.
With them perhaps there’d be
some sense of belonging;
a feathered nest
and a corvidae acceptance
amid the scent of death
and the breadth of life.
In my mind I soar,
I wheel through the air
until that image drifts;
the murder dissipates
and I am left alone
to stand
in silence.

(31 lines)
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