Crow’s Beak

Harley roaring recklessly,

tattoos mend clipped wings;

subcutaneous scorpid stings>>>

tearing, puncturing, endlessly

 

A torn soul dangles

from a crow’s beak,

perched on the parapet;

satiating Satan’s quota

 

Too afraid to demur,—

confront the crying kid

locked inside.

He didn’t twist 

time—

to turn

the clock back;

to brighter skies

of Spring’s smiling,

soothing, shimmer

 

Seeking spiritual rations,

Standing tall on the wall

The Eagle of our nation;

Uplifting those who fall

 

Filling the porous holes

with Joy, Love, Laughter;

Clarity, cleansing whole:

Silence … nothing stirs.

Back to Top