The Black Throne

All this thick green darkness is bright with birds,

Their songs drift on through leaves, they slowly shift

All the whispering of the light above

Sudden streams join their choir, their voices rushing higher

And yet the shadow of dark times lies

Reticent yet

At the trees' feet

And feathers grow monstrously dark in my cowering mind's eye

It seems that, from me, crows fly

Their wings painted black with my fear of an awakening, perhaps it nears

Footsteps stain the fallen leaves

My grey shadows seem to breathe