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Rev 16:8
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Sole Crow's Carrier
My natural calling comes in a single shape.
Above the five feet are the fearful.
One and one they form a lasting endeavor.
Making way for the high climb, a journey in storm.
The sky catches the sight of a rolling wave.
The line grows thick, the highest ground stands clear.
One solid and untouched the cliff-face begins to move.
An assembling cry splits the air, breaching a gaping wound.
...Somehow the serious display forms a charade
Moulded bones carved into black stone.
Leafdry folded skin on frozen twiglike limbs.
Hollow lifeless body and ashes bower.
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The one ageless manifest, the sole crow's carrier.
The pale light of the mane
comes to sweep my grace away.
The irony appears in a green insipid
As I am rushed to the waiting shackles.
I fail, I fall, I drop to the blunt stone surface.
This is where we look to find my final peace.
As always, eternity knows I've tried.
Timeless salvation in solitude.
Dishonor before death.
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