The Birds of Eventide: Poetry

In the morning,
they shriek their
arrival with a cry
of effervescent doom
before the dawn
has so much as
shed a sliver
of light into my room

Standing tall,
these birds of black
feathers,
dark and deathly
apparitions
perch upon the pallad
bust of my building
with malevolent
intentions

They stalk my daytime
landscape
with the cunning
of a thief
reminding me,
enticing me
with the chaos
just beneath

I've no chance to
enjoy the daylight
when they cast their
shadows on the ground
These Ravens flock
together silently
as if immune to sound

They are the
Birds of Eventide,
the witnesses of the
damned and derelict
Brash and unsanctified,
no one can hide
from the portents
they predict

And around me,
the people walk unbidden,
hearing not this
beacon's call
These subtle squawks
are voices that talk
on the horrors of The Fall

I listen to their
Eventide prelude,
my soul trembling
at its core
because I can't pretend
that I can't hear
the message anymore...

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