Cloaked Crows

There's an organic lil haven,

found with soil so soft and fragile.

Birds' sailing wings are the markings,

of its liberty in exile.

I once had found its resting place,

along my cold journey from home.

Such beauty had bewildered me,

left calm for pacifists to roam.

The ground melted as feet impressed,

like chocolate under summer's rays.

How blithe had found its equal,

a world full of halcyon days.

But chatter had soon nudged my ear,

an awakening from silence.

Its origin teasing me so,

till a voice guided my blindness.

"They come from all over," she said,

"the alarm is heard in the breeze.

An assembly of sorts today,

harken – in the trees, in the trees…"

And soon enough, between the leaves,

a fretful crowd had whimpered low.

Strange – this world of serenity,

quivers in fear of tomorrow.

"It's the bees!" one soon professed,

"How they have poisoned our pure stew."

"Are we to become like them? Nay,"

said another with words so true.

"Our stew may be inedible,

but I find it still good to chew."

Say adieu to thoughts of battle,

and join me in starting anew."

But aggression soon ascended,

and my brow chose to wither low.

I met this world so dear, and found,

in every beauty lies a crow.

They agreed to engage in war,

force their foes to wave the white flag.

Armed to regain tranquillity –

"Waters flow once enemies gag."

Shortly the meeting subsided,

and the polluted walked with pride.

Masking their now stained purity,

with a pompous, militant stride.

I burrowed my chin, turned my back,

and saw I vultures armed with flight.

Even bats had welcomed daylight,

but were ready to pounce at night.

Clouds soon shrouded the sons,

and my heart was left heavy with rain.

Until an owl's wisdom echoed,

"Fools will think peace can come from pain."

"But mama, mama," her child cried,

"how do we stop this gloomy day?

Shall this winter soon pass as well,

or is the cold choosing to stay?"

"This is life and things fail to change,

we may know what eyes cannot see.

But sometimes the heart leaves the mind,

suspending thoughts of disbelief."

"Oh but ma, but ma," he then said,

"am I to wonder in the know?"

Oh how can you, dear," she replied,

"choose to wander when there is snow?"

I smiled and began to venture,

to a new land that can peace retain.

But stopped whence her quote repeated,

"Fools will think peace can come from pain."

The owlet looked to his mama,

with worried eyes so full of shame.

"If they are in the wrong, mama,

aren't we then wrong to do the same?"