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Observing Raven feather-full,
A gleam of blue on black.
The beady eye could look at me
And widen every crack.

Mocking with
Hollow call.
Watch! Don’t let that feather fall.
Promises it’s not hole.

The Raven whispers thoughts of doubt,
Insides sobbing “let me out!"
A thought indeed bizarre
But one can only think that...
“Maybe these birds are?"

A glooming sense of winged wisdom,
Although black and beady eyed,
It would not come as a shock
That their little birds, they never cried!

One cannot help but wonder
If they can see indoors?
Of course it may not seem so
but they always come in fours!

Look out the window frame,
Take a peek!
Observe the Raven’s coarse black beak.

*Just mind he doesn’t watch you back,
Or he will widen every crack.
I have always had a fascination with ravens, and I just found this and edited it. It's been a long time coming, I think.
 Dec 2014 A C Leuavacant
aar505n
Stalked the streets of the fair city.
Walked among strangers, talking of change.
Gritty pavement beneath my feet.

Watched around me
at my supposed kith and kin
Saw them with sin
and observed them
as they curved around the streets.

At a shop window,
A little boy stares at the chocolate
In a state of elated joy
But in a limbo, unsure how to profit.

A woman strolls pass a fruit stall.
She sees oranges and clenches her fists
Drenched in the awful memory
Of a fruity misery

An activist tries to preaches
But no one is listening to her speech
An analyst who worries about everything
Scared of being nothing

Sitting at the steps of the church
A boy hides from the dull march of people
Feels a surge inside but words caught at Adam’s apple
So he lets the ink bleed onto a page instead

Outside a run down theatre the actor stood.
His detractors made their presence felt
making him uncertain in his ways,
pushing his very essence into the dark of ether.

Coffee shop was full
but the man stood out
Coffee dripping from his mouth
The blinding glint form his watch,
a lofty story to tell no doubt.

Two souls turned a corner and became one
neither were mourners of their old lives
Two heads on one dead body
Intricacy of the mind and soul
a flase sense of intimacy

And the ghosts joined us on streets
They did not boast of their deaths
At most, they were simple engrossed
with everything from pillar to post

Dragon was there too, wanting a battle
talons rip through rag and bones.
His fire arched upwards
and then down and scorched stones

Chaos raised its heineous face
and embraced the madness
strong winds ravaged the city
blasted every building down

Among the damge I saw them.
Them and more.
A robin flying by,
Mel with her dark eyes,
the river dried up and
four moons impossibly raised.

And everything rained down and destroyed me.


I awoke
but choose to keep my eyes closed.
Wanting to drift in the darkness,
a temporary bliss.
But then the memory surfaced
and I opened my eyes.

I stood on a bridge,
the city to either side of me
and the river running underneath.
No fires, no ghosts.

All seemed restored, I sighed a sigh of releif.
A smidge of hope flowed into me.
From where I stood,
I began to understand it all.

Out, out in the distance
I scarcely saw a man standing on the river
like it was land and not water
My eyes squinted to make him out
but all I could see was an outstreched hand.

He had been observing me
and now he was calling me.
and I would leave this pretty, gritty city
and all its comittees for him.

I would.

But I still had unresolved business.
Story to be told and demons to be slayed
Then I would be a free man.
But untill then I won't be a runaway.
Cause I'll stay as long as it takes.

And with that I adjourned
this session and did returned.
Taking my chances with the city.
a rather loneger poem than i normaly do, but i have this one one my mind for some time now.
Title is a reference to the quote
“What strange phenomena we find in a great city, all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open. Life swarms with innocent monsters.”
― Charles Baudelaire
Hope you enjoy and feel free to comment!
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees -
Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My ****** form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
 Dec 2014 A C Leuavacant
aar505n
My map seemed bigger when I was young.
Among many things from my youth.
How often did I hung from your tongue?
Believing words to be gospel truth.
I was, as you say, uncouth in sooth.

My map seems smaller now.
The edges closing in on me now.
Black lines crisscrossing me now.
Don't know what to do now.

My map is gone.
And I'm to afraid to move.
I could step on a percussion cap,
gain a concussion or worse.
The unknown is overgrown with death caps
beneath my feet.

My map is gone and I do bemoan it.
It's hard to think clearly through the
"That's Life!"s,
"No work, no play"s,
The "you can do anything you put your mind to"s,
and the "do what makes you happy"s.

It's hard to keep a personality through the
Ifs, buts and indefinite, fluctuating opinions of right and wrong,
him and her, you and me.

It's  hard to keep personal through the
Impersonal means of communication,
Retold stories,
and the disatisfying interactions between you
and the people you have chosen. The people
who you believed had chosen you.

It's hard finding me through all of this
you.
Deoxygenated blood flows from the body to the right side of the heart through the Vena Cava.
From the Vena Cava to the Right Atrium.
From the Right Atrium through the Tricuspid valves.
Through the Tricuspid valves to the Right Ventricle.
Up the Pulmonary Artery.
Through the semi-luner valves.
Out the pulmonary artery.
To the lungs.
Blood becomes Oxygenated
Oxygenated blood flows from the lungs to the left side of the heart through the Pulmonary Vein.
From the Pulmonary Vein to the Left Atrium.
From the Left Atrium through the Bicuspid valves.
Through the Bicuspid valves to the Left Ventricle.
Up the Aorta.
Through the semi-luner valves.
Out the Aorta.
Oxygenated blood is sent around the body.
Blood becomes Deoxygenated
Deoxygenated blood flows from the body to the right side of the heart through the Vena Cava........

SO If you tell me your heart is "literally broken" just don't.
It isn't broken.
It just hurts.
It's just feels horrible.
Painful.
A feeling that hurts you and feels like your heart hurts so much that it's actually broken.
But your heart doesn't actually hurt.
It's just a feeling.
The cycle stills goes on.
It is still functioning.
So, next time you feel your "heart breaking" and literally being "torn apart",

Remember...

Deoxygenated blood flows from the body to the right side of the heart through the Vena Cava.
From the Vena Cava to the Right Atrium.
From the Right Atrium through the Tricuspid valves.
Through the Tricuspid valves to the Right Ventricle.
Up the Pulmonary Artery.
Through the semi-luner valves.
Out the pulmonary artery.
To the lungs.
Blood becomes Oxygenated
Oxygenated blood flows from the lungs to the left side of the heart through the Pulmonary Vein.
From the Pulmonary Vein to the Left Atrium.
From the Left Atrium through the Bicuspid valves.
Through the Bicuspid valves to the Left Ventricle.
Up the Aorta.
Through the semi-luner valves.
Out the Aorta.
Oxygenated blood is sent around the body.
Blood becomes Deoxygenated
Deoxygenated blood flows from the body to the right side of the heart through the Vena Cava.............
So it's been a while since i wrote here..Maybe i just gave you a biology lesson instead of a poem who knows. (also i it is isnt perfect biology wise im sorrrryyyy...i tried-the heart's supposed to be the area i'm good at.kinda ironic really). I got quite angry writing. Lot of strong feelings appeared to come out of me...i wasn't gonna post this because i don't know how i feel about it till but i was encouraged to so here goes. Criticize all you like Opinions are great-good or bad.
Her
Effortless,
boundless,
listless
in this.
Feeling a writer's block coming on. Don't think this stuff is helping me feel
it leaving.
 Dec 2014 A C Leuavacant
aar505n
Four moons rose tonight.
Each one bad.
A ****** tetrad.

I looked for stars
But Mars look alikes
blocked my search.

And as I watch on,
it dawned on me.
This life, is null and void.
Soon to be destroy,
just look at the four moons.

A prophecy foretold.
Hypocrisy withold.

Fate and Death entwined.
Mankind's breaths abates.

Slowly but surely.
Prematurely.

Then nothing.

But I remember,
ex nihilo nihil fit

Not all prophecy,
are destined to come true.
So I questioned everything.
Knowing that nothing can come from nothing.
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