More crows gather than can be counted, protesting loudly the arrival of a storm.
The world quickly darkens like a thick quilt that keeps out even the warmth.
The speed of the clouds traveling overhead is like an old movie in fast forward.
I extend my hand before me, close my eyes, but can feel nothing.
How can we prepare for uncertainty?
They say love only leaves on Thurdays and death visits before dawn, but even Nature has been known to break all the rules.
Grandmothers tend graves in the afternoons, while the dead dance all night.
It seems the raven never grows weary and cannot resist a thing that shines.
Bleeding good byes are like rain but nothing said can save you.
How do you plan for ruin?

Melissa Fry Beasley is a Cherokee poet, advocate, and activist from Oklahoma. She is proud to have red dirt running through her veins. Through working with literacy programs, and doing various volunteer work, Mel tries to keep busy discovering interesting content for literary endeavors. She has previously been published in online and print magazines and journals and is currently working on her first chapbook. http://melissafrybeasley.wordpress.com/