Black Dove

Blackened wings with bloodied feathers,
Scars that never completely fully recover,
This creature stands for many,

It has tried to give a sense of peace in purity,
Now it sits within a manner of sinfulness in obscurity,
It is blinded from the light it used to see so clearly,
It's purpose is left unfulfilled,

Peace has no purpose within the game of life,
The need of the dove in it's purest form,
Is locked away beyond many rusted chains,
It transforms into the wicked bird it is now presently,
Harmony has a definition that becomes alien to this brute carried by wings,

Death engulfs it's knowledge of all that was accord,
What it used to be, has become undesired and useless,
And so the darkest depth of it's essence evolves,
Becoming a symbol for only chaos,

Chaotic, is the world's description,
Many try to give it sense of tranquility,
But it all fails, and it is all corrupted,
Souls that are pure of heart, are fairly rare,
It is ,at times, hard to believe this near extinction of such individuals,

What is it that we have all succumbed to?
What is this such corruption?
What is it that turns us into these foul creatures?
Why is it that our solutions are only created by crossing blades to result in death?
We might all have our answers, and we might know,
But there is nothing right or wrong about them,
For deep down within,
There is no true answer and no proof,
And we know nothing...

The Black Dove has consumed our world
We hold as its trophy,
The Black Dove has its victory