CROWLAND - Pt. 1 Section 1
CROWLAND - Pt. 1 Section 1 poems stories
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songofreverie
songofreverieHome of name crises and sore finger pads
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A fantasy epic revolving around a crow and a mystified child trying to find her freedom in the world.

Part 1, Section 1


A more fluid and legible version can be found on Wattpad @ songofreverie

CROWLAND - Pt. 1 Section 1

On Winter's breath a crow forlornly

Threshes, black as night's lids

A matte blotch marring grey covered skies

Churning with aches and overlaps both,

Darkening swirls of cloud with heaven's anguish.

This crow, escaping the weight of many

Promises that trail behind like unbegotten

Wishes, a comet tail of guilt and regrets.

Curses ring below; begrounded miscreants

Roar out displeasure at their escaped prize.

Over the hills is her destination, a land of

Water fog and ruined castles,

Swamps and gentle-leaved willow trees

Weeping over rivers of organic tears.

A whisper of ancient song hangs

Tearful in the air, there, left by

Coward peoples in boxes of their own

Haggard designs.

Adrift now, high above its iron bars, the

Little crow laments a song, an answering,

Wavering call to the forgotten lands

Ahead, always almost within reach.

Yearning for her lost lands,

She screams a new promise.

Her wings are slick and lacking in

Shine, softer than a lion's paw

And thick with greasy feathers so coveted

By those capturers below, caressing the

Air with a gentle and elegant curve

Befitting the skirts of a lady's dress.

Her beak, stout and thick with scarring,

Boasted chafing won from the struggles of

Centuries in the blackened hands of Soft-eared infidels.

The crow sang her songs through rough cords

Between the rostrum and tongue

All while alighting on gusts of northern breath.

The most captivating of her features bled a

Shining black, hard and smooth

As polished stone; her irises gleamed with

A long tortured pain of many years a prisoner,

Now free at last to roam the skies.

The light in her eyes, then, was a dangerous sort,

Befitting an angry queen commanding order

To end the livelihood of treason.

This world is a strange and terrible one,

Breathes a mother to her wide-eyed bairn

Watching a winged dot take off to her lands,

And I am glad one creature beat these

Wretched odds.

But who will keep her now?

Asks the bairn, voice soft with lisps.

And the mother berates gently in response,

Crows are never to be kept.

Now carried by a strong north wind,

Our crow fixes her stony, mournful gaze,

Ruthless and glad,

To the ever-greening blue hills she knew.

Hearty fog quilts the bases of those natural,

Bountiful towers, shrouds of elegant dust

Over the heartlands and valleys below,

Under the shadow of virgin mountains,

Near the ever-louder echo of coward voices

Diverting their sorrows to faraway listeners.

Those ill begotten dreams the

Blackened people held for her paled to the

Awing wonders of her homeland.

At least, that was what she

Wanted to believe,

Running from her iron cage, far from

The clutches of those who had tried

To clip her wings and watch her

Fall to the earth, a discarded child of her

Beloved sky.

And yet,

There were kind paws too,

Those who shoved the last of their crumbs

Through the bars, through the steel

To her hungry beak,

Scraping dissonance on the metal

To keep the keepers away.

Did they not deserve their desires?

But a crow is a pet of none save the

Thrown away carcasses cast into brush

A measly offering for hungry cackling

Perched on their prized steeples, watching.

Oh, how she had longed to

Stretch her wings and soar amongst the

Clouds once more,

Not a sound to be heard but the roar of

Savage wind against her skull.

She had banished those unworthy to

The back of her mind;

They meant nothing to her.

But the dirty, featherless faces of others

Cloud her clear sights and render her

Off course, for a time.

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