The crow and his burnt feathers,
His fading Iridescent luster
calls out for a life that at one point

He knew.

Lined with dark ash, covered
In rubies and gold.
Yet one look up above
One he could not obtain.

An illuminated lie in his dreaming state.

In stillness he stood
The ink that he bore
The scattered light he once held
soaking in his obsidian hues.

Things he could not take back
Things that he could not have

And all the questions he still had
could only be answered

By the moon.

-Kore