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Black wings floating against grey skies,
his wings are spread in misty airs. He
hovers close, but does not land. With eyes
upon me, I can not stand. I huddle close
within his nest and all I can hope for is
the best. He draws closer, with wings a
spread. Floating near me, I know I'm dead.
His claws spread out, as he comes into
land. His wings are spread across my hands.
Claws dig deep, piercing skin. Feathers lay,
on top of breasts, softly floating to his
chest. Open mouth, the bird will feed. In
raven's nest, I do bleed. Raven screeching
out in hunger, he does feed. He has the
urge, to make me need. Eyes so dark, you
can not see, the raven's nest, is where
I'll be. With black wings floating, against
grey skies and raven's eyes upon me, I will
surely die.

About this poem

Child Sexual Abuse.

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Submitted by chevy_4 on July 19, 2024

Modified by chevy_4 on July 19, 2024

46 sec read

Chevelle Wernsmann

Mother of two, adult survivor of child physical and sexual abuse. more…

All Chevelle Wernsmann poems | Chevelle Wernsmann Books

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