Cries of the Crows
Always at my side
Brightening up my gloom
Turning bad days around
And making good ones perfect
But you have flown away
And wings I've not grown
To keep from falling
With the rest of our world
I dost sit still
Waiting, trying, hoping
For your own sweet call
That shalln't hear again
For a sense of realism
To see my own existence
But all I feel
Is the burning emptiness
That dost kill frequent
The burning coldness
Of starting over again
For the next time
Of many likely to come
But watching the sky
Spies a bird flying high
A bird familiar yet changed
All the same
As she flies right by
Only later dost she remember
And when she finally lands
The two lone black feathers
Found yet years later
Spell their ultimate Fate
