Poem: Demons and crows

This is my trail

The map given to me decades ago by those who didn’t know better

It’s not their fault, nor is it mine,

That this map no longer holds sway

Cursed and blessed with diseases like smallpox on the western front

The trail is overgrown now with white moss, ravenous, relentless

Slowly encroaching, devouring, consuming

As the demons and crows circle

Giggling and waiting

In vain, it turns out

For my ultimate surrender

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