The Cry of A Crow

When the leaves began to change to autumnal colors of crimson, 
 And in the spring when the flowers bloom’d and the grass grew lush and the junipers blue
   When the sun set on the pueblos  
 And the haunt of the blushing mountain foretold not her passion 
 The crow cried.  
 In the brush of the wind  
 Nothing gave sign 
 But a crow in a conifer keen.  
 The crow that quietly cried 
 At the sect of sleep and sleepless not  
 Only the sigh of the weight of the tree  
 The wind that blew this banging door  
 This palpitating heart alone on a porch 
 Only these signs were given: 
 
The cry of a crow  
 And the sigh of a heart  
 That sees beyond the realm  
 That is not yet extant.  
 The crow cried a year  
 To a stucco house  
 Up in an empty nest 
 For an empty tree  
 At the dawn of day  
 the dusk and break  
 At the tide of the moon  
 The crow did cray  
 And only this sign was given  
 Swept away are the troubles of yesterday 
 Swept away the ‘morrow  
 And swept away the people 
 And only the crow still cries for me  
 At the crack of dawn  
 At the break of day  
 Harbinger 
 Of all that shall pass  
 She, alone, in her wisdom, treacherous cries!
 If only they’d listen  
 To her desolate whines!  
 On crumpled leaves,  
 She rests.  

 Laden with sorrows and prayers to the ethers. 
 Incommunicable sighs.  
 Forever she cries  
 To those whom unbeknownst stroll  
 Upon the fickle fleeting lanes  
 They decipher not her omen  
 They heed not her boding. 
 For knowest, not her tongue-tied cries  She weeps for those who go est  She, yoked with sorrows  
 Sees forth them roam  
 Their brevity lives  
 Oh, thee phantasmal spirit! 
 Thee haunt of portent!  
 Take your tragic decree.  
 And flee from me! 
 Thee, heavy hung  
 With heavy doom  
 And dire song  
 And laments true  
 Flee from thy barren sterile trees!  
 Flee from this fallow ground! 
 Flee from my mind a go from me  
 And take thy news of plagal creed  Away, 
 Away with thee!  

 Wings of a raven, 
 Depart from me! 
 Bewail not, these lands of fortitude  Of steel intransigence 
 Bemoan not concrete passages  
 Nor wail within this province! 
 Flee thee 
 Herald of Hadees  
 Emblem of Thanatos 
 Your very voice is venom  
 Your very voice a horrid ghost.  
 Blight of our humanity  
 Cry not  
 Cry not  
 Your truth to me! 

 Flee thee lone crow out of these terrestrial bounds. Tell not your tales of misery! 
 Tell not your profane plaint!  
 Thou, the clamor of the underworld  
 Spectacle of hate!  
 Messenger of necrosis  
 Flee ever far from thee  
 Humanity,  
 Cares not for your monodic melodies  
 Heed not their folly not their fate  
 Sing not your requiem! 
 Still, the crow cries in the autumnal leaves  While we forget the sight of thee  
 And the crow cries for calamity.  
 Into oblivion  
 Despise’d plume of pestilence.  
 Cry not  
 Cry not to me  
 Reek not to me 
 Your wretched plea 
 Creature of portent and cacophony 
 Born on a still blood lunar eve, 
 The sound, the cackle, the cry of thee!  
 Thy curs’d creature  
 Harbinger of fatality  
 Hail not thy cries nor heed thy static tones  Din of decimation!  
 Flee- from thy tree and summer zephyrs Leave with the draft of dusk  
 Return not nor ever hail respite 
 Fly from thy nest of vacancy  Cast only into vagrancy  
 Cry to the firmaments of Elohim  But cry not to us, humanity. We shall not bear the sight of thee  We shall not heed the sighs of thee  Flee from humanity.  
 And the crow cries still.