Apr 17, 2022
1 min read
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.)
