Outside, on windowpanes
the passionate crows
tap their beaks
till their hope is exhausted,
a lonely figure,
in the glass, materialises,
and they, lost in its greatness,
daily wait and think
it will open its wings to see them.
who will tell them
shadows are beautiful rainbows
but never they can wear an image that
will smudge their covert wounds, bleeding.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
Outside, on windowpanes
the passionate crows
tap their beaks
till their hope is exhausted,
a lonely figure,
in the glass, materialises,
and they, lost in its greatness,
daily wait and think
it will open its wings to see them.
who will tell them
shadows are beautiful rainbows
but never they can wear an image that
will smudge their covert wounds, bleeding.
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