The Silent Sword
Thieving autumn air
Strips naked a tree,
Leaving it not with
Any such leaves.
Leaves and branches
Once grew together.
Clothing the branches:
Perched upon the highest branch:
A feather of Pearl.
Dark Feathers flutter and flap
In a black frenzy of furious flame.
Feather of Pearl upon the peak,
Painted and pierced by pools of pain.
Here, Feathers are blood stained.
From a word,
the shingled weather
storms the sky with endeavors.
From the Bird,
a single feather
so pure and proud falls to nether.
It lies on the ground until picked up and
As the feather of a dove.
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Comments about this poem (White Crow by The Silent Sword )
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