The soft pillow cries to me,
as I wander across
the nightingale yard.

I look up just as
a crow flies to
my doorstep.

Its black wings,
fearful, and ageless,
gaze into my eyes.

And, as its beak
penetrates and my mind
begins to break

I reach for the pillow.
I fall awake.
I look up.

A crow sits,
my west-facing window
a tumbleweed of black feathers.


Image Credit: Krystian Olszanski
Released under an Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0) license.
Image has not been changed.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s