The Crows in Bleak Array

The crows descended through the haze,
To rest on branches stark,
A troop of spectres, black as hell,
Abiding in the dark,

A cawing murder, hunger crazed,
Above the forest, waiting,
Scouring the ground below,
Their watch undeviating,

A rodent scurry in the grass,
Or insect’s buzzing flight—
The prized objective of their eyes,
Amid the creeping night,

For hunger pangs are maddening,
And drive the creature wild,
In desperation comes the kill,
In callous craving styled,

A rushing swoop, a racing wing,
Before the talon’s razor sting,
The darting mouse, bereft in death,
A meagre toy and mere plaything,

The bloody body, limp and warm,
The prey recycled into life,
A crow’s subsistence — future hope,
From momentary strife,

The murder group in jealous watch,
And competition vying,
For the treasured boon of blood,
To stay the chance of dying,

Survival of the fittest bird,
The fiercest and the quickest,
Pray, who will savour gluttony—
The strongest and the slickest,

A murder gang of hungry ghosts,
In swarthy bodies stranded,
In competition jostling,
But never yet disbanded,

The trees with brittle winter stems,
A seeming lifeless palace,
Blank, skeletal, void of leaves,
Defunct of warmth and callous,

The roving sky in concrete grey,
The clouds of frost-strewn winters,
The speckled rain upon the air,
In dainty, falling splinters,

The promise of the landscape cold—
The turning of the ruthless wheel,
With life jewel-precious, and unsure,
Below a sky of steel…

AD Lovkis, 24/07/25