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Screech low, fly away
To the mortal belies
A barren sifting gully
Dawn couples risen skies
Clandestine mirror gleam
Water-lily breastplate
Envious of erudite machine
Circumvents the hand of fate
Wars, my brother, kindly guide
To the crow's bestial plea
Pugnacious has thee driven
A brother in winged arms to flea
Eyelash temple crowned solemn waste
Silken Rhodes, surrogate the tide
Skittering vale, crestfallen concave
of what Mother moon has hidden in stride
Ne'er aloft to decree, ghastly coils
Pitch blackened constant beguile
fastidious coalescence desired
Approaching fruits, a labor worth while
Knell, to kneel before godhead fountain
Breath is the gift given as one dies
To our vicar of mercy, hate, truth and vain
to Morning, as the mourning thrush cries
Dust away the dusky day, painted gray
Fallen souls, bereft, one and one
Sailing inverted disciples
Robes retreating from sighting sun
Linen lined denial, begging introvert
Rotting clear as a carrion cache
Acceptance of her brother, hurt
Was all the crow could ask
Hell-bound apparent, nightmare leash
Destitute corsage, branded chill
Decrepit leaves flowing aloft
The frigid flock within skin so soft
This sibling is a wailing ivory elation
Billowing chorus to don reverence
Dignity, comprised of human desecration
Crowned king of love stained severance
Cemetery smiles breed interlocking wing
Blackened foul, opal phantasm cowl
In misery, the crow ordains to sing
As her silver shadow begins to howl
Questioning unsettling reality
Sister, why privy living dreams?
Jaded, playing fortune climatically
"What choice have we?" She gleams
Allegations ringing, stinging valiantly
To rectify, nay, justify prevalent demise
Accosting existence for acting so cruelly
But the thrush only screams in shrill reprise
His eyes shifting dolorously
Mordant retort from his maw, exhumes
Vehemence, squandered in libations
Respect paid for every imposing tomb
Causation coincides to lackluster drifts
Veiled morbidity is nary replete
Despite forwarding disdain rifts
We all must greet the end, complete
Not tear nor scream nor wanton wail
Will save or resurrect what comes to pass
Or dissolve away intransigent fears
That lie disgraced in gutters, amassed
This sermon shines bleakness, streaked
if naught but singly, one lesson culled, satiate
Allow it privileged, emanating from his beak
"Circumstance coalesces as our only hand of fate."
- by Cottoncandyocbra3 |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 09/22/2009 |
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- Title: Mourning Call
- Artist: Cottoncandyocbra3
- Description: A newer one.
- Date: 09/22/2009
- Tags: mourning call
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Comments (1 Comments)
- P a n d o r a s L u s t - 11/08/2009
- u tell some people that there writing makes you sick but really your writing is stupid, pointless, and has no such meaning but just words typed or written down. you show no true emotion in your words there for you could never understand the true meaning of poetry. your words are meaningless let alone make any sense. your work is not even worth being pitied upon. you are selfish and ignorant and people like you make me sick. the ones who think they are superior to others and think there better wh
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