Crows at the Gates~by Norman Wilson

 

 

Crows at the Gates

Upon this winter’s day I find
A life that ravels like a ball of twine
Before the queue, that rests the day away
While I lay deep in the earthen clay

In the fray, that stokes the smoke gushing red
Within that twining spool of thread
As the melodies of angels tune within
The graveyards are stacked thicken and thin

The crosses bear the mark of Cain
With shackles bound, that shows my pain
For crows that caw upon the gates
With bobble-heads and eyes that wait

They gather in the gathering for their meat
To peck upon the inner torsos of those deceased
As I lie in rest for my final eternal sleep
They come for me with cawing pleads of please

So take my bones and carcass seething red
And lay me down beneath a dirt-filled bed
While crows sit on the gates with spreading wings
Waiting to peck upon green eyes and idle head