Graveyard Turf Wars: A Poem in Three Parts

A Murder Moon reflected

in the Crows’ Eyes,

red mist swirling beneath

beating wings.

The Raven’s parliament

perched, watching,

waiting.

—–

Ravens’ watch from

suicide trees shrouded

in bloody mist.

The Murder caws,

all the black wings

battering frosty air.

Graveyard turf wars.

—–

Below,

Ravens’ posture,

Crows’ front,

to a gravestone gallery.

Rooks above,

perched on a crumbling wall,

wonder which pawn will fall.

Tymen

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Always remember Poetry isn’t a Choice.

Also, I’m still working on my Passion Project, my Poetry collection, In Media Rêves. Check out my GoFundMe and contribute if you would like.

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