An Early Morning Creation

Nicotene King

Spreading the wings of 100 black angels,
The scarecrow takes flight.
There's nothing in these fields but despair.
There's nothing in these fields but him.
He watches over these threadbare lands,
A mixture of art and terror that has been long forgotten.
His shriveled dry clothes match his parched straw heart.

The darkened divine messengers fly over the polluted land,
Taking him to his happiness, so far away.
There's nothing in these lands but hollow souls.
There's no one in these skies but him and his angels.
He's the Dark Prince of the sky, with his crows as his holy guardians.
A terrifying reminder of the worlds endless sins.
He was forged overnight by the Nicotene King of the countryside.

A sight far from brilliant, falling from the sky.
His burnt celestial beings have left him to die.
Proving to the world that even the immortals are not invincible.
Proving to the world that there's no point in belief.
A splintered and broken scarecrows pieces lay in a field.
A pasture that looks exactly like his own.
His everlasting presence will remain there,
Watching over his home.