I say “you’re a blessing”
and it’s true
but you are so much more:

A perfect jewel
endlessly beautiful
reflecting God’s light
in countless ways
my own dear Silmaril
delighting eyes heart mind soul

Even the flaws
(impossible to see
without a loupe)
do not detract
they merely add
detail and texture

Polished surface
prismatic depths
beauty
upon beauty
upon beauty

A murder of crows
the color of void
wheeling against a white sky
black branches, barely budded
a grid to track their flight
below, all is green
with splashes of
white yellow pink red

A murder of crows
omen of battle
noisy and social
low-class cousins of
lonely and noble ravens
thinking of death and hunger
(but mostly death)
your death, mine
the dog across the street
crows dream of death
even in springtime

She thought She’d got us all
was finished

But broken bodies rise
pointing at Her

She tries to move
but they force Her back
make her own Herself

Then She feigns pride
and indifference

But broken fingers
continue to point

Bloody gazes
continue to stare

She screams (tearfully)
Her defiance

Her only answer
is silence

She starts a new war

The old broken bodies
collapse and decay
at the sound of marching boots

The new broken bodies
have not yet arrived

For Her it’s a reprieve
War is peace
when the Warrior Goddess’s
conscience is not yet dead