A Murder of Crows

Something about the moon that night
stole the thoughts from my head
and filled me with unceasing dread. 

It called to me with a ravenous voice,
its silver shadow crossing my face, 
and drew me out into a place
where cars lay parked in gleaming rows,
like coffins covered by falling snow.

Three crows on a pole whistled and screeched.
It seemed they were calling to me. 
I raised my head and looked up at the sky. 
The moon had grown and was reaching for me
with silver hands and a gaping maw.

While the cacophony rang across the lot,
I ran and ran to the thud of my heart. 
At last, when the noise had gone,
I sat on a bench in the midst of the snow
and watched a man across the way,
a man in clothes of gray.

When he turned, I saw he carried a scythe.
I cried out and fell on my knees
and grasped at his feet. 
“Death!” I cried. “Death I’ve seen! I’ve seen — “

At that moment I woke in my bed.
And the moon’s waxing shadow
fell on my head. 

the moon behind clouds
the moon between clouds

Poet’s Notes

After my “debut” horror effort “River Water” (which I didn’t realize was horror at the time I wrote it), I thought I’d do a poem emulating the works of Edgar Allan Poe, whose mysterious death I wrote an article about. This is a poor emulation, but I hope it’s entertaining all the same. It gave me a chance to play with rhythm and a bit of a more traditional rhyming scheme.

And thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this poem, I’d really appreciate if you left me a tip on Ko-fi so I can keep creating as much as possible for you.

the moon

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