Poem -
The Dead...
A flaming raven with a blood thirst craving appeared through the murky clouds,
Stealing the moonlight with flickering feathers whilst the blackness of its eyes glistened,
A serenity reality breathing perfect harmony, yet the spirits of the feilds whisper from the ground,
A haunting playground where concrete became graves,
History of the dead?Â
Well...Â
That was a forgotten sound.
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