Crow’s Beak

 A torn soul dangles

from a crow’s beak;

perched on the parapet

satiating Satan’s quota


Too afraid to abstain, or

confront the crying kid

locked inside;

dragged along 

by darkness.

Can’t turn

the clock back;

to brighter skies:

when Spring’s sun,

shimmered and smiled.


Restoring the spirit

with drops of laughter

Clarity, cleansing whole

Silence … nothing stirs.

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