As the Crow Flies

I was digging through my old Xanga for buried treasure and I found this old poem. I think it could use a little editing, but I rather liked it, so I decided to repost it. I recall being disappointed with the song "As the Crow Flies" by Thrice. I think I just felt like the name had so many possibilities for storytelling, having it merely be about raising a crow felt sort of boring.


"As The Crow Flies"

As the crow flies,
we're ten miles from home,
and you can still turn back.
The eternally winding road,
the weight of this knapsack,
and these swaying rows of corn,
they're all I know.

But in ten miles more,
you'll be homesick for sure.
As I wander through mazes of city lights,
and desolate farmlands sentried by the scowls,
of ragged scarecrows,
following caravans to the courts,
of the wealthiest kings.
And robbers into the darkest forests,
Where fireflies cavort in nightly shows,
and the light of lantern globes dance,
in every maidens' hair.
and rains soak every lane to mud.


Far from home and fresh bread,
and clean sheets, and morning coffee,
but oh so near the stars.
The trees will whisper your name,
and I will sing of winter snows,
and around campfires,
down mountain trails,
in graveyards and dusty libraries,
I know you'll be missing home.

As the crow flies,
we're only eleven miles out.
You can still turn back,
I want you to know.

(Originally published April 21, 2008)