In the Absence of Crow

The biggest revelation was to learn that roots are frail,

that I exist within a history that reads like fairy tale.

You could be lying dead somewhere, yet how am I to know?

I ain’t no Ted Hughes scholar and I can’t rely on Crow.

Instead I’ll search for messages, perhaps upon the sea,

ones that herald tidings that I have been, at last, set free.

Free that is from expectations, memories and fear,

free to be my own true self, to walk a path that’s clear.

For far too long I’ve lived a life shackled by old chains,

the captive of a living ghost that’s haunted my poor veins.

So does it make me cruel to say I’d cry, that much is true,

when the reason for my tears would be myself and never you?