Murder of Crows | the old fear

a palindrome(mirror) poem

The murder was settled —

in a daughter’s stony hands
and, still reaching in, they bore forth knotted barbs and wire —
how the instruments mangled the depths of a queen’s cheery banquet
with no mercy!

how the wine spilt in rivers, broken glass a-jingle, tablecloth torn to shreds —
a hallowed tune playing until even death, lord of song, had long-forgiven
the company of inquisitive beaks — instruments of soulless musicians —

unloved and unpolished
stuck onto oily heads
red, harlequin eyes
weeping

The murder, a ragged flock—

(now read upwards from the bottom, and all will be told.)

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There are so many little worlds which I oft seen, so many hands which I have oft clasped and so many secret treasures which my heart oft keeps sealed. But where could I keep them but here: the hopes, the pleasures, the dreams, the thoughts — whose charms were broken if revealed?

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Vincent Chang

Melburnian high school student | owner of The Afterglow Publication | lover of all things literary |