Sole Crow's Carrier - Rev 16:8

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.

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.