Robert Green (09.05.57)

The traveller succumbs
Shelter he seeks
Black hearted and weak
Door pushed! It creaks.

I hear the beat of its wings
The harbinger of death
It's lament it sings
As it steals my last breath.

It circles the tower
It's shrill tone
Climbing higher and higher
Pulling at the one alone.

Lightening lights the towers window
A visual portal into hell itself
Feel the walls closing in
As the death black crow does sing.

A brush of it wings
Brings my hands to my face
Head drops in dread
As it lands on my head.

Head bowed low
The peck of the crow
Shrills sharply at it victory
To the floor I cower.