Black

The crow sits high
And stares with their beady black eyes
The black flowers wilt; I do not care
Nor does the crow, with its beady lack stare
I taste the black blood ,
From the dead sky it rains
But only the dead black trees feel pain.
The children, long dead, lay on their backs
As the black blood blade goes snicker snack
Do I die if I open my black eyes?
For all I here are black blood cries
But the black sun blares and does blind me there
I smell its victory, thick in the air
And the lucid black smoke, it takes as disguise,
Does not compare to the open black skies
And if it is I shall die tonight,
Then let it be known the black crow will take flight.

-Jenna Carrisosa