Raven. Broken nooses make for poor halos.
Rusty blades aren't meant for surgery.
You can't blood let pain away.
A twisted whole and poisoned soul,
The shallow hole digs itself deeper.
Under shovel or sickle...it doesn't matter.
Raven, tell me your tale in rhyme,
Do we speak oft enough to share truths?
Perhaps the rain was not quite acid before it rolled off your waxed wing.
No...not another lullaby whistle,
Speak true or cast your shadow over me.
Raven. Broken halos make for poor nooses.
My oak tree has grown to old, its branches too weak to bear me.
I cannot fathom the carvings of a blind man with a dull instrument.
Perhaps I was not meant to be clay.
Raven. Like you I was meant to fly, let me depart this day with feet above the ground.
A fallen feather perhaps for the forgotten.
How it hovers slowly to earth.
So too shall I. Someday, Raven.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Nights at Noon A Collection of Poetry
PoetryA collection of poems about my struggles with mental health issues. Writing has always been an escape for me and it has exposed me to some of the most wonderful and creative people this generation has to offer. Their words continue to inspire me to...
