#themurderingofcrows
A blood red sunset drips over
the black asphalt city skyline
somewhere in a lost part of America
where the dream has
long been dead and buried
and hate and fear rule
the rural streets that are protected
by peace keepers
that practice ******
more often than upholding the law
It has been declared open season
on any crow the color
of a starless night sky
and the dove has become
a symbol of
to protect and serve
their own kind
birds of a feather
that cover for one another
justice is blinded
by the snow covered truth
and the color of corruption
is coincidentally the same
as the color of money
the poor have little choice
but to trade their bones
and their hopes
to the corporations
of the new land
of the free
to be owned by
and controlled by
a minimum wage
that only guarantees
to keep the poor
poor enough
to work another day
and another day
and another day
until there bones are
nothing but powder
and their beds
are nothing but coffins
for the barely living
and life somewhere
in a lost part of America
at the end of everyday
the sky turns red
and the color of blood
runs through the streets
as the doves go along
with their business
of the murdering of crows
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
While the mother crow cries
over the dead bodies
of her children
the doves fly away
as if the murdering of crows
is not any kind of crime
as the doves
see evil
hear evil
protect evil
The crows heart
a constant target
of the doves violence
Who's next?
Whose name is destined for hashtags and ******
how many lives
will it take
before the hate
and fear
in the doves heart
bleeds out
The deadline of
the life of a crow
is drawn by the jeweled crown
of loathing the dove wears
on its head
and the fear inside
the loaded gun
of the doves eye
and the hate beating
wildly beneath its wings
and blindly in its heart
Hope is a heavy burden
under the pounding
blood red sky
Where the doves
practice ******
more often than
they protect the peace
As the oath has changed
to protect and serve
their own kind
and lady justice
has been blinded
by a white wash
of white lies
And the murdering of crows
goes on...
and on...
and on...
While the living
can wait their turn
to be murdered
and crucified
and martyred
on the next hashtag
while serving their time
from inside the freedom
they have behind the bars
of the cage of poverty
and there is always
more room for another
and another
and another
inside the skin
of the prison cell life
they were born in
The crow is suspected guilty
until pronounced dead
and its innocence
is nothing the doves
cannot beat out of it
even after it is already dead
as the color
of the doves guilt
is judged to be
more pure than
a corpse with
a crows dead heart
no matter the weight
of its innocence
and the murdering of crows
goes on...
and on...
and on...
While the feathers
of the doves wing
spread out sharp like knives
with a seemingly
bottomless hunger
for the heart of the crows
and we lower the body
of another martyr
into the earth
how much longer
will we allow
the murders of crows
to walk free
as if the murdering of crows
is not a crime
the doves can bury
the body of a crow
after crow
(one after another and another)
but never their songs
never their names
never their hearts
and the dead will speak
for the living
as long as the living
never forget the dead
one day the crows
are going to rise up
over the black asphalt
city skyline
singing into the
blood red sky
hearts crowned
with fire and hope
flying high and free
flying over
the mountain tops
singing of the
promised land
singing for the dead
but not forgotten
singing words
of flame
and poetry
singing for
freedom
and unity
carrying the weight of hope
and hope is a heavy burden
we all must carry into tomorrow
and tomorrow
or tomorrow will never
be better than today
we must always lift our dreams
with love and hope
and one day may we find
our way over the mountain top
and into the land of promise
where birds of every feather
are free to fly in a sky
without violence
and fear
and hate
where tomorrow is a river
flowing into a better today
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 2:22 PM UTC