In the distance, a soft rumble,
Trying to placate the struggle
Of a white crow beaten black.
You watch crowds of children swarming,
Wondering if anyone is mourning
The loss of innocence, of perfection,
Or are you the last one out?
Time changed their ways.
Their once melodic sway
Turned to a violent tumble.
We’re all now howling hounds,
Strapped down, on the way to the pound.
Thirsting for freedom from our chains,
But we’re all heading to the ground in the morning.
Author Notes: I'm a fairly new writer, so let me know if you have any suggestions to help me improve!