01 Nov '09 10:45 :: 6 recommendations
Hands Up.
I listened, Hand on Heart, to the messages of the sun. Burnt I sometimes felt, as the crow lay still, ice cold after its fly unity was broken with no black amps flowing nor even the rustle of a fight against a leaf. It was no longer a sight to see. To see a dead bird is freaky, when the unknown mimor accident has ended. But for the tagged leg, number smw6869, it remained pretty much anonymous.
Fleabitten? Catfood? Under rapid fire?... traveling again? Never!
Prior to this we will never know. Now just another life burns. Was it under the hands of mephisto or another daemon? Did mathurine have her last joke?
We do know, in its fragile estate, it is no longer a cavalier of a crow. Did it drink badwater? The vet, my pal, inked his report. The small flier had indeed been a rookie. It never could fly. It had flown its nest before being handy with its wings. Move it good it never could.
It wasn’t an eagle. The raven was a stronger species… a star man. Strength in the field of the red night as it could even hold Octavio as it flew. What can we deriver from this epik hawkeye?
A silver strike can hit us all, a sham. Whether we dare lay down just a bibit, sometimes lousy or feeling like a noob, it’s not useless.
There is a great big greenpawn, unclouded by a boss within yourself, if you can, to move it in the right direction and be Red Hot!
-m
