The crows of my old battlefields
come out each night to find
remaining flesh and blood,
the eyes of whom is left behind.

They want fresh prey, new meat.
The wind is hauling round the fort,
they fly low over smoke of dying fires.
They pick in wounds. They scratch in eyes.

Last night, deserted now, the battlefields
shone silver under moon and cobalt sky.
The crows took what they could, away,
and cawed some sort of a goodbye.

This morning as I woke, on my pillow lied
a feather, it was black,
the window moving in the wind, and silence.
But theyโ€™ll return, they will be back.

*
This one was not meant to rhyme, but when it did, I just let it do that. I suppose poems have a will of their own ๐Ÿ˜‰

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Comments on: "The crows of my battlefields" (18)

  1. I know what you mean about a mind of their own. I’d like to think a muse is helping me! Lovely poem.

  2. Poems certainly have minds of their own – the frst one posted on my blog is a poem that simply wouldn’t be the poem I wanted it to be (You can find it here if you want to http://rumoursofrhyme.wordpress.com/2011/12/20/elle-and-the-villain/).

    I enjoyed reading your poem. You say on your about page that English isn’t your first language and apologise for that, but there’s really no need. Now, if I were writing in Dutch, that would be a whole different matter ๐Ÿ˜ฎ

    • Hi Tony, thank you very much. I am glad you enjoyed the poem. My English has a lot of learning to do, but thank you for being kind ๐Ÿ™‚ I shall take a look on that first poem of yours.

  3. You have captured the suffering of paranoia artfully and the imagery of war is fitting for I have suffered this way in depression and I identify. Like above comment you show no indication that English is not you first language. I follow sixthsymph poetry blog and her first is Russian and cannot tell either.

    • Hi Carl, paranoia… aww I didn’t think of that! Maybe it is! Depressions are the worst nightmare I know, I hope you will never have them again.
      Thank you for thinking my English is really ok! ๐Ÿ™‚ I am working on it!

  4. dang…a rather ominous closure to this one…the leaving of the feather…the crows and blackbirds carry such symbolism as well…and marrying them with your battlefields def is a nice touch….poems do have their own will…smiles…

  5. coming out each night
    yes, this…

  6. Great symbolism in this, great piece!

  7. They always return – the vampires of the battlefield – hovering, anticipating further blood, they come again and come again but I refuse their hunger. The dawn rejects these parasites…

  8. Hi Ina. I’m a fan of corvids. You might like this old Scottish poem too:

    http://www.putlearningfirst.com/language/12dial/twa_corbies.html

    You might like how the different translations/ dialects have different effects.

    • Thank you for sharing the link, I enjoyed reading. ๐Ÿ™‚ Scottish seems to have some familiar sounds to me, but some words are real mysteries! ๐Ÿ™‚

  9. Rhymes sometimes escape. They are slippery customers.

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