Poetry

The lonely crow
 
Mid winter douses the vibrant landscape.
All glows and colours faint..
 
All that had colour now covered in white.. a
cold and painfull paint.
 
Dormant roots now burrow deeper into soil..
 
Leaves falling like blankets upon the ground.
 
A canvas of rotten wood... a layer of frost...
 
In the middle, a pine tree.. atop a crow
 
His eyes searching for that which was taken
from him..
Knowing it's of no use, still searching,
desperately searching for a way out.
 
A sad painting... with no life... no joy.. no
colour.
 
Dull grey.. dead black..
Cold white..
 
My portrait of life...
 
A lonely crow on a pine...
 
A king ruling over a fallen kingdom...
 
A kingdom that everybody left behind...
 
It's gates closed and frozen...
 
And slowly my feathers are falling..
 
one by one.. I paint the landscape into
 
dead black