Poetry/Storytelling

The Crows 

When you walk through death so many times the pain is almost delicious.

The Crows

I laid on the wet grass watching my breath caress the night air.

Unable to move

Pain in my chest and lower abdomen was growing

I was burning

I chose to fiercely confront my own death

The grief was unbearable

Hot tears spilled as I lay there motionless

I wanted crow to take me home

As I slowly began to sink in between worlds

I saw visions of darkness, blue black feathers filling my mind

Comforting me I slipped into the nothingness

I was still alive but in a different way

There was no more fear or pain just peace and not knowing

Not knowing what was to come

Not knowing where I was travelling to but I was travelling

I could feel myself moving

Transforming

I woke up from what I was already awake in

To more pain

More sorrow

Grief filled me again but I felt stronger this time

The walking dead

I walked for as long as I could burn through the pain

Until the crows came again

Peace filled me

Tears dripping down my face

I was comforted once more

Death stroked my hair

Took my pain away and left me in the nothingness

Where I waited to live again

Written by Astara Lak’ech (c)