|How We Talk
Author: GreenStripes PM
Prose about a crow who sings the wrong notes to a nature lover and how those "wrong notes" hurt both the nature lover and the crow.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Hurt/Comfort - Words: 720 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 11-24-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3077344
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
How we talk
The crow always speaks wrong.
And it hurts.
A tingle from the body that won't go away till the crow makes a cut.
Though the crow can't cut
Because the crow hurts even more
Because it's smart
Because it's stupid
Because it's smart
Because it's weak
Because it's smart
Shame that negative outweighs the positive
The crow can't think this day.
Not that It ever could.
The crow wants to explode
But the black powder within never goes off
High and hot,
But never leaves the container.
The crow wants to tell you that it hurts.
But it won't
Because it'd hurt you more,
Hurts the crow.
You think "How compassionate!"
It is only selfishness
Because the crow just doesn't want to get hurt.
Like the caw of the crow that's never menacing,
To the ear of one that loves all nature.
The nature lover,
Wait till the bitter end till it leaves
Or you finally break.
The crow will always caw till it's told not to
The crow never understands the obvious reasons for your displeasure
Because you are human
And the crow
Just a crow.
But like you the crow feels.
And to make you feel better in your distress,
The crow will sing
Like the nightingale does.
A crow is not a nightingale
Therefore, cannot sing
But still the crow sings
Making this nature lover
The crow knows it can hurt others easily by singing
So it stays quiet,
For long periods of time
An unhealthy amount of long time.
Being the one that loves all regardless of anything,
Loves the crow
So the crow tends to sing to you
Even though it can't sing the right notes.
Tire of the crows caws.
They insult you,
With sharp pricks,
From soft intentions.
You know how the crow speaks
But this song,
This one song;
Which the crow sings,
Hurts you more than other songs.
But the crow continues to sing
To try and fix the notes,
That have already been sung.
You the lover of all
Would never try to stop the crow
From being anything that it is;
Who hear the loud crow's song
Tell the crow of its mistakes
Tell the crow of its entire wrong doings
Showing the crow,
How its pure song
Had been twisted by the wrong notes it sang.
The crow will then be silent.
For it had made the one who listened
If you ask the crow if it was hurt
The crow would shake its head,
And would never caw an answer.
Ask once again in five minutes,
And the crow would happily caw again for you.
But the crows songs to you now,
Would never be the same.
They'd be confusing
Have no beat or rhythm like the song with wrong notes.
They'd be slow,
For the crow will continue to over think
The notes it shall sing for you,
To make sure that the wrong notes
That it cannot avoid
Will not hurt you.
We talk like this.
How I tell you that this crow; in summary, doesn't like to share its feelings
Or maybe it that it can't share its feelings.
But you would never know
For you are not a crow.
And you think to yourself,
"But I understand"
But you don't
Because you are not thee crow.
The crow in the story.
"But that's you"
But it's not.
How would you know if it is.
All you know
Is whether or not you are the crow.
If I was the crow,
I'd have contradicted myself
Saying I don't like to share my feelings,
When this story
Clearly described my feelings.
Or did it?
Was it the crow being described?
Or was it myself?
I wouldn't know those things if I wasn't the crow.
But why would I say the crow? Instead of I?
Am I the crow?
Is the crow me?
The crow is the crow.
And I, being me
And I'll say with a grin
That I'm a little like the crow.