Perched in the rafters
Keen eyes watching
After all you’re the messenger of the All Father
At least to some
You’re just a trouble maker
Uncomfortable with any truth that is not yours.
Harbinger of death
Omen of ill fortune
You soar the skies
Harassing the kites
Harrying the eagles even
Mob justice at its finest
When you steal kills
And tell stories of a hunt you never made.
You preen golden feathers from your plumage
Dancing in scarlet blood
When you proclaim judgement on carrion
Preaching injustice and prejudice
Sowing discord and reaping chaos
Douse yourself with dust.
Mock the jays
Rob the cocks
Stab the robins
Swallow the sparrows
Clean up with the bustards and buzzards
Not fit for anything but gossip.
You see nothing good
Except for you
At least your brethren do not hide themselves in their inky blackness
Your magpie cousins love the shiny things
You stand out in full colour
You’re an apostate
Conspicuous in the harangue of your self proclaimed enlightenment.
Your duty to religion will be the death of you
It snows not here
And while you glide the thermals for the latest gossip
Some trigger happy kid will shoot you out of the sky with a sling
His daddy will stuff you and put you in a display case for quick cash
You’re your own ill omen
Life is the harbinger of your doom
Freak of nature!
Be consumed by your own lies
Oh one more thing
Next time be born black.
image courtesy @archillects on twitter
© sena frost ’17