At 6 AM as I sat
on my porch
drinking coffee,
smoking an evil
cigarette and
thinking of nothing.

Exactly eleven crows
on the electric wire
began hurling
what I imagine
were cacophonous
insults at my
barely alive being.

I answered nothing.

Crows are not
to be messed with.

They have powers.
They remember slights
and are prone to plan
violent revenge.

Why do you think in
groups they are called
a ****** of Crows?

And how could I,
being one man alone,
answer an entire
choir of them?

I beat a hasty retreat,
innocent though I was.

  ~mce

I come here and see sad smiles mostly,
I see poets and sad, knowing smiles of poetry...

Alone in her empty bed,
Hand upon his absence.

Terrified at the thought of
Him alone in his;

Enjoying the space and longing
For nothing.

Blue skies are ugly in the eyes
Of sadness,

Their emptiness relateable,
Loneliness sunburn.

She turns to the void.
To the beautiful trees;  

*Are you angry at
Me too?

i'll continue to
salvage
the pieces
until they are
too small
to see

Oh how sorrow takes its toll,
Losing all control,
We'll be forever unkind,
We're losing our fragile minds.
  
Making up a tragic tale,
Of how we managed to fail,
To smile in the holy light,
And hid our faces in the eternal night.

Break the fall with a thought of survival,
But hit the ground with no hope of revival,
Respiration is a distant memory,
As life on Earth is only temporary.