Crows scavenge the barren landscape of my mind
Out of habit rather than the hope they might find
Something worthwhile
But though I'm blind
When it comes to seeking that shell for emotion
Somehow I seem to have captured the notion
That if they search long enough
Though the terrain may be rough
They'll find some good stuff
In faith and in trust
I'll self-destruct if I must
But it's simply just
That I don't want to rust
On a forgotten scrap heap
Crumbling iron that forgot how to weep
A used part too worthless for someone to keep
Another scratched cog in another scratched beak
One more person who stalled the machine
Tempered too fast and shattered too clean
Shards fall from the sky, unheard and unseen
Replaced by another part, as it's always been
Another person who wants life to mean
Something important, to change the scene
To alter the barren landscape of their mind
To give the swift crows something to to find
To keep whirring along, not left behind
And me and my crows are agreed
If it's what they need
Then let them bleed
Let them root out their weeds
And who knows?
They might do what I can't
They might succeed

***

Okay. Truthful moment. I have absolutely zero ideas as to what this means.

It's thirty three lines of strained metaphors that fit together about as well as a corkscrew and a beer bottle.

There are themes, sure, emotion and stuff, but I don't have any rational meaning to it. I've had the first line for a while, and today I just started writing with no goal or finishing point in sight.

I kind of like the result, but I won't pretend it's logical. Sorry if that's what you like.

Alex xxx