The Scarecrow

Look into these burned and blackened feathers to see
That I am not a crow
I am a raven
Summoned here as an omen for your death
I swoop and soon through the dead trees
Then rest myself on this broken branch
And cackle to myself with malicious joy
At you out there in the field
Did you truly think of me as a fool?
So apparently barren of any life or spirit
So dry and oblivious day after day
Perhaps I should act deceived for pity’s sake
And whatever did you think you were protecting
As you stand there on guard for eternity?
Over dead crops and brown bushel
Even the hungriest of rats would stray from such a garden
To think I would ever want a closer look
To think that I would ever stoop so low
As night turns to day and you remain there
Alone with a false smile painted on your wooden face
Straight backed, without legs, feet or heart
Arms spread out in a crucifixion
For your self diagnosed Christ figure reputation
And your counterfeit excuses for self-sacrifice
Your sightless buttoned eyes will see nothing
Your straw hair will catch fire
And I will wait for you to call for help
Just so I can fly further and further away
Because I will not live with you
I will never die for you again
You will just watch this black tail
Glide away until it’s out of sight
And you might think that you are a master of deception
But NO− Not now and never again
Because I am not a crow
And you do not scare me anymore

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