A Six of Crows Poem

No mourners, the voices a whispered hush
No funerals, the reply
The phrase, a prayer to those unsafe,
Uttered, world wide.

Once for the boy with hands of filth
Atop a wooden crows head
His truth hidden in gory lies
His past a road to revenge

Twice for the girl who scaled walls
The ghost who silenced the damned
Her home a family she knew not where
Who she longed to see once more.

Third for the boy with hair so blond
Who thinks his way is the only right
Who believed magic unnatural-
But longs for the one in his sight

Four for the boy who’s more of an outcast
The upper class left in the dregs
Unwanted by family- behind all the words
The gang, the first true home that he’s known

Five for the heartrender, the girl dress in red
Who saved her enemies life
Her power her weakness her power her strength 
The grisha among the crows

And six for the sharpshooter, who gambles away
His money his life and his time
He’s trusted yet not for the cards make him talk
Yet his own secret lays buried in iron

No mourners they said as they started their path
Towards money and dreams and to hearts
No funerals they whispered to each others backs-
Less a prayer, than a wish or a hope

The End

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