I sit in a dim black bench
Outside prison walls
Sharing my last piece of bread
With a flock of pigeons
Fighting for crumbs.
All these pigeons look identical,
Grey feathers and bright red toes,
All except one, a pigeon with a zipper on its back.
He looks at me; his eyes resembles that of a vulture,
Such a cold stare.
His head turns around
And with his beak he unzips himself,
Ever so slowly dark wing comes out.
He flaps his wings twice and reveals his face.
A black crow emerges
Holding a shiny object
Between his bright grey toes.
In shock I say "Hey what are you holding?"
The crow grins
And says "If you wish to find out then follow me."
He plunges into the sky
Within seconds his flock appears,
Bright sun covered in darkness.
I follow the trail of ashy black feathers.
The trail ends at a wheat field
On my last breath I say "Why here?"
From far away the wheat field
Looks like a mountain of gold coins
The mountains reflect this painted sky,
Pitch black with blue splatters
You could see how light struggled
To show an appearance
The crops wave back and forth
As if they were trying to say goodbye.
The flock flies towards the sky
And joins the shiny blue spots.
It's the undercover crow
Who stands in front of me and says "Are you ready?"
I swallow my throat "Ready for what?"
"Oh you will see" whispers the crow.
We take a road where the brown soil
And the green grass, live side by side.
He stops, the cold air suddenly
Rushes through my body.
The crow grins and looks at me,
Expands his wings, and grows
The feathers turn into silk
Black cloth covers his body.
He is holding a long black stick,
With a razor sharp blade,
The blade curled perfectly for ending lives.
He looks at me with his vulture eyes
"This is your final resting place"…
Inspired by: Wheat field with crows painting by Vincent Van Gogh