Dream
graceful crows return from the land
of the dead, full, flesh in their jaws
we struggle to understand death,
they feed on it, oblivious to our concern
from dust to dust, or rather, from
flesh to earth, always a transition
I dream myself a crow, feeding
on my own death, hungry for blood
in the instant of recognition, I am
neither bird nor man, I am transformed
the dream awakens me, for an instant
my wings brush the sheets, then silence
I have made the journey, and returned
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hey there, i was just blogwalking and i happened to read one of these. very mice stuff. so well written a poem... keep it up :D
ReplyDeleteHaz.