The End

Dark, glossy ink

flows over the broken ground

propelled by the smoke

and the dark figures above

Crackling screams flood the air:

the trumpets of death

hail the burned cages

of past intelligence

Those cages that grin

at the irony of their end

and stare at their solution

meant to end the war

The bloody ink slips over them

slowing as it goes

darkening cages

before moving on

But it, too, dies, slowly hardening 

until finally the screams tire,

and even the glossy feathered Raven 

falls to the ground

The pulse silently slows

with the beat of the last Raven’s heart

and as she falls to the earth

there is no more

Congratulations.

You ended the war.

Eternal peace.