I dreamt myself a white winged crow
Pecking carrion from a page;
Blood Gushed, hot and black.
My pearlescent quills frayed -
Grew sparse - that wind would not catch.
I could no longer fly.
Faster, yet faster I ate.
Blacker, yet blacker I stained.
And when my belly was full
A sob rang from my bloodied beak.
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Author:
Matthew J. Bays (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 2nd, 2026 11:57
- Comment from author about the poem: Sometimes I wonder if we were ever made to know this much.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments3
This was a haunting poem that like a dream itself may well be metaphor. Nicely written and a fave
It does make one wonder. And thus we grow darker and darker.🕊️🙏🐦⬛
This is almost like a nightmare, well written Matthew.
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