Hanging from a cross,
The Scarecrow is alone.
Surrounded by all,
Insides coming out.
Colors fading,
And stitching failing.
The Scarecrow is alone.
Circling above its head,
The crows are watching.
Waiting for death’s hour,
So they can eat their fill.
Still the Scarecrow is alone.
Worn down by the ages,
Beaten by wind and rain,
The Scarecrow remains.
Pecked and Torn,
Clawed and Ripped,
The Scarecrow remains.
Bleak, the sky, black overhead.
Crows frantically flying and diving,
Trying for the Scarecrow.
Trying reap from the fields
The lone watcher of all.
The supports that tie it up,
The Scarecrow,
Finally break lose.
It falls from its perch,
Stumbling to the ground.
The Scarecrow’s mask,
It broke in the fall.
Behind it, is revealed a man.
The Scarecrow is alone.
Crows ripping him apart.
Surrounded by all,
Insides coming out.
1-14-20
RadioactivePoetry 