How swift the breeze that promotes sorrow’s winged flight.

Upon murderous crows it sweeps upon the unwary.

Disdain it knows me well…

Belittle my torment at your own peril, come nearer so that I may see the scorn upon your brow.

The jester dances as an ass brays in the cold night.

Dust off my chair for I can stand no more…

Be still, my heartbeats louder, for the passing of the hour has brought misfortune once again.

Crave not the caverns that men choose to dwell within their hearts, yet run rampant through the streets setting fire to thatch that disallows the stars of heaven to be gazed upon.

Bring forth the justice that blood has demanded and forever dance to the rhythm of silence.

How swift the murderous crow.




- J.G. Smith (06/25/06)