The Murderous Wingspan of Crow
I run and hide from my shadow,
The murderous wingspan of crow -
Of flight, not fight.
My curdled dendrites long since spent.
Like the greening hulk, my skin rent.
So dim - the light.
I’ve shallow breaths and molten fear’d.
My former life, like a steak seared -
With poor eyesight.
I fold my hands and bend my knees
And hope for insight - what He sees.
Spur me upright!
1/9/2019
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2019
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