The Crow

Written by: Erin Nash

In Lost Thoughts of an abandoned park
where swings were never swung
where rusted grass grew to the sun
and the only existence that boarded the merry-go-round was the cold wind of may.
It was vacant, where his eyes crept with the yellow of apathetic strangers,
Constantly Surrounded by the old Mary Jane,
He could complain
but these concrete shoes fit so well.
There they sat,All the respected men
under pretences of happiness, family and bliss
while deceit filled quiet emptiness.
But society's betrayal occupied many pews that day
whilst pieces of the crow flew in with the sly wind.
Scrunched tissues were dry and eyes still held composure
What Demon lies in such aesthetic mahogany?
that all who appeared in black, showed no emotion
and in the centre of broken snickering
the pinnacles sit, with their polished nails and untouchable fabric.
and out by the Idle river, the lost legacy dances alone.