The Crows Feed

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

The brink, like a precipice of death,

Wind blows about, laughing and pointing,

Look at those fools, it laughs,

The spirits who ride the air laugh too,

They will follow us soon, they sneer,

Their black horses toss their heads,

And manes of wind flick back and forth,

Bells ring on the air,

Their golden eyes watch, laugh, hate,

And wait, for the new dead to come their way.

 

Narrowed eyes, beating heart,

Watch the light glimmer here,

Reflecting off the point of a spear,

The point of a sword, reflecting fear.

 

Row on row set up to slaughter,

Bashing together in a discordance,

A ballet of death, a waltze of pain,

All in this ironic dance.

 

A single warrior steps out of line,

His eyes are hidden by his exotic helmet,

Ribbons tied with bells fall from the low rim,

Ribbons tied to every limb,

He jingles as he walks, a lilting, song of death,

Dressed in light green, with flowing clothes,

He looks like a war-bent prince,

A small, smooth smile can be seen along his lips,

As he pulls forth his long-bow,

As tall as two children head to toe,

And sets an arrow to its string,

He pulls it back, sets it to the air,

And looses,

He steps back and shoots the arrow high,

Up and up, and then down, to pierce the ground,

Another smile and the warriors on either side fly.

 

Sword on sword, the screech of metal,

Screech of pain and defeat,

The screech of birds in the air,

Awaiting their fresh-killed meat.

 

The single warrior in green watches,

The wind ruffles his princely robes,

Light glimmers off his armor,

He is surrounded by the crows.

 

Now he removes his helmet,

His long black flowing hair, as perfect as silk,

As black as obsidian, falling about his hips,

The wind flutters through it,

Lifting a lock here, there,

Brushing it off of his shoulders,

He walks among the dead, no survivors,

The crows follow, flying around him,

One alights upon his shoulder,

Surveys the slaughter,

The man pulls forth a perfectly white fan and holds it aloft,

The light glitters from the knife ribs and the cloth,

The birds descend, and feed,

The man smiles, his golden eyes reflecting death,

Reflecting the laughter of the wind as they greet,

Those who have swelled their ranks,

The new Riders of the Wind.

[Guest Phoenix]

i love this

the imagery is really strong...

i dont have the words to say more now, but i found it so evocative