A MURDER OF CROWS

Posted: July 27, 2014 in Dark Poetry

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He stands still, waiting and watching
Cold hard intent blurring his vision
His mind is crystal and iridescent
His one true purpose defies reason

He walks the dark and lonely alley
Left out in the cold yet again
He shudders as teardrops turn to ice
Time has taught him nothing

He listens and hears the echo of footfalls
He braces himself, any moment now
Hard metal pressed against the small of his back
He holds his breath and waits for his prey

He walks the dark and lonely alley
Loving and Losing, a swing and a miss
Loki stands amused holding cupid’s bow
He feels drained, the steps are heavy

He steps out of the shadow, gun in hand
Blocking the path of his victim
His eyes are blood shot, adrenaline and the rush
He drinks the fear that pours from the other’s eyes

He looks into their eyes, barrel and predator
Finding sympathy in none, he breaks a sweat
He searches for the words, there are none
His life flashes before him, the end beckons

His pulls down his hood and stares at the other
The resemblance is uncanny, one and the same
He stares at himself, despicable and weak
He closes his eyes, inhales and pulls the trigger

He watches as he is about to take his own life
The cold breath pours from him, his last
He licks his parched lips, shuts his eyes and mind
He does not see the sound or hear the light

He opens his eyes and watches in awe
His victim bursts into a thousand pieces
Each piece with wings that stretch and flutter free
He watches in awe, a Murder of Crows.

The Aventurine.

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