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Eloisa May 14
A helpless mourner
Lilting in her deep sorrows
Raven in darkness
To lighten her nightly scars
Whispered her pray’rs to Selene
Payton Feb 25
She lay on the ground, dirt collecting on her bones and in her hair.
Feathers and twigs scatter around her as the raven builds its nest.
A gentle breeze stirs up leaves around her.
It never served her to have a heart of gold.
This poem was written in 2017.
Kyle Jan 19
"Dying"
The word little Raven knew as falling;
But little Raven was trying;
Little Raven's mind keeps denying;
But little Raven's heart wants to survive and keeps fighting.
Will little Raven die;
Or choose to live and fly?
Little Raven (IV)
Kyle Sep 2020
Little Raven can't fly;
Locked up in a cage full of thorns and cypress vines.
Even if little Raven tries;
Its heart will eventually die.
Its soul will also cry;
And that would be a goodbye.
Little Raven (I)
Kyle Nov 2020
Raindrops are falling;
Lightnings are striking;
This little Raven is falling;
Its heart is dying;
Its soul is crying.
Little Raven (II)
Kyle Nov 2020
As little Raven is falling;
Memories keeps reminiscing.
The clock's hands are turning back.
The past's time is coming back.
Flock of ravens flying through woods;
But that memory isn't that good.
Little Raven was just watching them flying;
Over a broken little window.
Imagining to be free from dying,
And could fly freely over the rainbow.
Little Raven (III)
ᴊᴰᴍ Dec 2020
There is a violent madness that hides inside all of us,
some oppress the chaos, others live in denial.
Once in a blood moon hidden in a dark room
vibrations of bedlam a paracosm of two.
For the world that we see through a hidden marquee,
a putrid stream for the mentally ill.
Yet with no hesitation, a dark star pulsating
you plunge into the void then pull me through.
Fret not for each thought gives birth to brilliance,
as we stir the cauldron of the sacred brew.
Blood and water, son and daughter,
resilient to the universe we devour and consume.
Jonathan David Maraccini
2020
J Dec 2020
you say that you,
when something happens,
choose fight over flight.
yet. whenever I'm in trouble
or sad
or panicking
or numb
or angry
or bloodied
or bruised
you run, you freak out, you leave, you
vanish.
you fly away, raven.
so perching myself on this boney finger
of Death's
I, the crow, will caw
until you return
"to protect."
u h h
William Jul 2020
Trapped in snow,
My carriage enthralled.
Only sound I hear, the ravens call.
The wolves in the distance,
Their cries do tease.
Carried on the bite of winters breeze.
The trek is hopeless,
No end in sight.
I shudder fiercely in limitless night.
No fire to warm.
No stars to light.
Dawn approaches through snow ladden trees.
I cannot help but feel at ease.
Stopped to rest, my body weary.
Sleep does come, so dark and dreary.
My body numb.
No tears to cry.
Frozen dead is where I lie.
Knawed upon by bear and bird,
By wolf and shrew.
Consumed by beasts just passing through.
Bones lay picked clean,
Dressed by morning dew.
Fragmented, scattered, is where I remain.
Haunted eternally by the ravens refrain.
N Sep 2020
I wonder if the filed of lavender
sighs when it yearns for her scent

I wonder if the sunflowers
worship her raven hair
like the sun

I wonder if the moon weeps
with longing over her absence  

I wonder if the sky turns pink
when the spring breeze
touches her silky skin

I wonder if the cherries bleed in her
mouth like my heart when she left
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