Maybe I Should Stick to Prose: 9 – A Thousand Blackbirds

30 Jul

A Thousand Blackbirds

A thousand blackbirds
A thousand beating wings

A dream given a name for only a moment
as they’re passed in shadow
Wires cross the sky
wrapping ‘round the tallest towers
brushing against dust veiled breaths
of untouched souls reaching
for a stolen hand
Gilded feathers of sleekest ebony
softly plea upon no ear
but only the moon
who will not hear
Upon the bell of midnight sprung
a flash of red
entangled in a mighty clash
of golden streaks

screams befalling only the night
for the cold and weary stars
to whom burden lies most
The Imminent rises

For a thousand beating wings,
fallen.

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