The Claws of a Crow

As I ponder bleakly upon my usual highland stroll
A cruel gust of wind compels me to look below
And before me I find the claws of a deceased crow
They point to me from a bush that sways to and fro

My weariness will not disperse until I reveal the corpse
And I do, to feel my soul burn with the turn of a harsh wind
I mutter—“Is that a voice whistling by my ear?”
The winds seem to delude me—“Hide now! Or devour!”

But my folly fills me with wonder and I seldom scurry
My soul only glows brighter on this breezy moor, until

Hallucination! It overpowers me and slams me to my knees!
I shriek wearingly—“I am possessed by one who came before!”

My eyes have seemingly become that of a dreaming demon’s
They search a sky barren of light, until I find a winged ghost
The ghost of the crow, which sears into my haunted eyes a vision
A vision that contains the feat of the crow’s gliding galore

And as I wish some mercy from this unbearable reverie,
I grow beyond myself in a ruse of nature’s lore
And as this nightmare reveals where the crow would once soar
I am harked of my croaked hopes that fled from me long before

I screech—“Am I mad or am I overwhelmed by life’s woe?”
The winds humbly reply, “Why doesn’t this spectacle reveal more?
Don’t my answers rest within your soul’s core?” And here I am set free
But not of my wondering, for the crow’s beak pecked away my soul’s guard

My heart! My heart! The secrets are buried there by the daily bore!
But how to still it now, when the crow jabbed my fleeting yore?
I am too weary to rage against the fading fire in my soul
For I have lost my friends and lover, who made me feel whole

My heart reveals I am the crow—left in despair and denied of loving care
For this crow died alone and loneliness leaves the soul bare