Crown of Crows
Soiled sinners lecturing on the art of being pristine.
Innocents retreat to black pits and darkish seams.
God tucked away the red lantern and ivory ring.
Very few are rescued from the darkness within.
The good sheep are mixing gospel and fear.
Charlatans and sharks are circling in with shears.
Talking heads are in it for ratings and attention.
Town criers' race-baiting for a vote once again.
Millions gorging on fish and blue-collar greens.
Very few are sowing; they're just takers of the seed.
The horizon is deeply rouged and roughened.
Nobody cares enough to balm it up or buff it.
Bloated children are crying out once again.
Cupboard and pantry are running very thin.
The lullaby and nursery rhymes are dulled.
So, one day they decided just to snuff them.
Black crows preening atop a thorny crown.
The curtain of humanity came crashing down.
Somewhere deep in the soul of a dead-end night.
Heaven was nailed to a neon, no vacancy sign.
Saint Peter packed it in without even saying goodbye.
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