The Scarecrow's Understanding

The black night stayed, 

Instead of the morning light that you'd expected.

The blackness is still there, 

It permeates your brain.

You cannot blot it out.

Like cheap wine spilled on a tablecloth,

It leaves a stain.

The blackness doesn't care

how much you hoarsely shout, 

Because it insinuates with whispers, 

And its words are not kind.

They tell you, 

“Look in the mirror.

See what the world sees.

It laughs at your words,

And finds them absurd.”

It only makes things worse,

As you cry and curse.

Why does this always happen?

When all good people are forgotten,

Leaving only the lifeless scarecrow

That hangs silently from its post.

Its head is cocked to one side,

As if trying to understand 

The language of the crows,

That mercilessly swoop down on it

Pecking and pulling out its straw.

You can't keep from hearing 

the deafening noise of their flapping wings and caws.

Though you cover your ears, it doesn't help,

Because now their cawing sounds a warning in your head.

saying, 

“Do not be misled,

When they say nice things, 

They're only waiting for the chance,

To tear you down with their bare hands.”

So you are sliding down a slippery slope,

As precious hope slips through your fingers.

Their cruel words linger,

Suspended where you are.

Tearing open the scars,

That others left behind with their taunting.

Their vicious words are haunting 

The darkest corners of your consciousness,

Robbing you of the happiness,

That used to shine like a friendly light,

Keeping you safe from the abyss

That you are now teetering on.

Then startled by the cawing crows, 

That again swoop down,

you lose your balance and slip off the edge of the abyss 

And fall to its distant floor

Where the crows start pecking 

And pulling out your hair,

Like the madness that has found you,

Desperate and aware

That you are lost.