Rotten Vulture

Atop a statue once depicting liberty,
Perches a foul creature,
An avian actor,
Decaying piece by ruinous piece,
A scavenger feigning regality,
A vulture wearing the feathers of an eagle,
Mould and droppings falling upon a flag,

Nonetheless this animal is loved and reviled both,
Regarded in both sycophantic and tyrannical aviaries,
It wants not for fodder,
The carcass of a republic lies below,
So it rends at putrid meat no longer protected,
Picking at the scraps of the citizenry,
The flesh of a populace with potential,

Each wing of this beast is dyed an opposing shade,
One crimson,
The other a dull blue,
Battling over which part to gnaw at,
Even as they rot and fester,
But make no mistake,
Both factions are wings of the same rotten vulture.

Crowmother

I heard tell of a witch,
A maiden in this harvest season,
A lady in an obsidian regalia,
Where she walks the flock congregates,
A winged host of subjects,
Upon her word do they fly,
She walks paths lost to man,
She is the mother of ravens,
She is never alone,
She is nature,
She is death,
She carries the murder in her soul,

The Morrigan

Winged Omen

Beside me perches a dark omen,
An avian herald of ill outcomes,
An eye of Odin,
Such cold hunger in its obsidian sockets,
Why has he come?
Is it the end so soon?

Twitchy and cautious in demeanour,
Its beady oculi looking through me,
Perhaps focussing on the ripe spirit within,
I am carrion to this bird,
I know it,
But know not why,

He is joined by his murder of murderers,
A pack of little sin-eaters,
I can but only sit and watch in return,
They are no pale horse,
But to look upon them is to look upon true death,
An omen of the end.

Flocks

I am not a jealous soul,
But I stare green-eyed at birds,
Those avian aviators,
Artists of the blue,
I envy them their wings,
I write you true,

Soaring the skies,
It must be such release,
Such catharsis,
They are not bound to one another,
Why do they stay in throngs?
Are they not individuals?

Do they not know they are free?
My envy screams up at them,
Predation should be no deterrent,
When the flock flies west,
Why not fly east?
Don’t waste those wings,

Coveting their feathery prom dresses,
I call out to them,
Please take me away,
Imitating their freedom,
I reach skyward,
Yet they flee in flocks.