Murder Of The Unkind Poem by Caleb Crow

Still I love this black cloud,
This loud murder of steel,
To steal away in the gray,
Paying in kind to this dark unkind –
So they can be unkind to the day.

Iron fingered beauty, and metallic eyes,
No lies in these wonderfully treacherous skies,
The demise of the disguise of disgust,
Oh! So lonely is distrust when it discusses us,
And all the shinny passion? Rusts into faded and foddered lust.

On the wings of glorious horror,
Pure sorrow in flight,
Swooping in like a living night,
With rite, it is our right-
To write our dominion across the clouds.

Dominance in each bow,
Bowing to no other fowl.
And how foul are these guttural growls,
Of utter displeasure, that measure in the dozens –
At least! When we feast on flesh of fallen beasts.

This armada of midnight wings,
Shrieking battalion of onyx.
Oh! How the Talons sing –
Of this shadowy gauntlet,
See how power rings, as black cloaked death is upon it!