As The Crow Flies

If never I had loved 

then ever have I loved 

that dream that was 

meant to betray me.

Alone we enter into
this misty languid world
unsure of what we know
until evil strikes and
As it does we must
then choose to embrace it
like love cold to life
that knows it not,
Or not.

The crow flies low in our vision
of steely things that mar
creations beauty,
but we do not see
blindly the ground that
grinds us down into
its grip, its knowing, its pain,
its embrace choking
us to death carrying
us back to dust
to dust.
Or not.

Jim Hime ©2014