Skepticism

I turned around
The path was gone
Took a step back
Fell on my face
Fully covered
Up by the woods
On a carpet
Of thick moss
The sun
Filling half
Of the horizon
Rays drew warmth
From my skin
I turned towards
My right arm
A shadow cast a raven
On the top
Of a pine
Inhaling
A monotonous song
Down a rasp throat
As it landed away
Black flowers
Withering in bloom
Facing each other
With nothing to say
Growing down