The Crow

Above their heads
the black crow flies
screams out the deceit
when it catches their eyes

It hunts the man
like its doomed prey
with its disclosure hidden
from the light of day

They fear the crow
they fear its cringing words
for their battlefield becomes a playground
where the children picks up the swords

So much they fear their own truth
that they have put aside
that they pick black feathers of guilt
and become madnessí bride

The crow is never satisfied
it haunts them when they seem careless
The black crow obeys its only name
when someone searches for Consciousness

1997 © Ingvild Gregersen


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