The Truth of Being a Crow
Posted on 21. Jan, 2008 by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Daily thoughts
After flying long and hard,
I find myself tired.
My wings, glossy and beautiful,
seemingly go unnoticed.
For the way I see,
I am alone, always wanting,
Amongst those who mimic me,
who give my image ill repute.
Within my eyes,
the ebony black definition of loss,
a place where no dreams survive,
Empty as my hope to fly.
Dear eagle, why am I not your brother?
could I, if not for such ugly brethren be yours.
Would my spirit not shine, as my wings once did,
upon the blue sky of day, brilliant and powerful.
Is my path born to me, wishing and hoping,
as my coven flock around decaying dreams,
and the bodies of strangers become our feast.
Do I dare say, that I am different?
I am not different.
That is what my fear tells me.
I cower behind that thought in the night.
Hoping that the voice of truth is never heard.
I watch my family,
as they tear away the purity of life,
destroy the sanctity of peaceful slumber,
and drag each soul into our chaos.
I watch.
And I am ashamed.
My feeble hope to be something more, is quiet.
Amongst a roar of indifference and hate.
I find in being alone,
that my image has lost the glamor I once dreamdt,
if I could only hold myself with faith,
I may once day be an eagle.