Sitting above the backroom,
the gray sulfur of indiscretion
billowing beneath my perch.
Voices of sinful conversation,
reaching my ears,
playing amongst my thoughts.
Old crow, black and lost,
Watching through the rain,
wondering if anyone cared.
Peaceful and stubborn,
a life that didn’t have reason,
or even worthwhile consideration.
Old crow, discarded and soiled,
upon the wire that holds no weight
dark water raining from the stars.
Last 5 posts in Dedicated Poems
- To which I am thankful - November 23rd, 2007
- Sometimes we smell the roses - October 18th, 2007
- Lost Friends - October 7th, 2007
- Autumn Memories- - December 31st, 2006
- The Dreaming Memory of Clouds - December 11th, 2006
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