Things may change, but they still sound the same

Crow-dark and crow-hoarse,

Sweeping black trees bend and break,

With a crack they fall,

We walk on,

A river corpse-deep and sure,

Follows us,

Thigh-high grass wilted,

Crack! They freeze,

To grasp with hands,

The feeling is lost, somewhere by a friend,

Somewhere, not close, is this the end?

Dare I hope for more? Or do I wait for it to-

Crack! Another falls, another walks,

I hardly hear them when I step on my own.

Crack goes our hope,

And the sighs, long and known, were soft once,

Not now, now they are hard and they Crack!

To the ground, to the mud,

The rain is new, so the grass rots, and the mud grows,

And the dreams drown,

Heaving one final sigh, one final Crack!

A crow yells, the first person ducks,

The rest follow, the sun is nowhere to be seen,

Footprints, footsteps, ice, dark,

Crack! The crows dive, and

We all fall fast,

Eyes closed, air cold and black,

Crack (is this the end?)

Crack…