THE RAVENS WATCHES

Death has blood
on it's hand,
cold case goes
around in circles,
and the running feet
took the hunter behind
it's trail,

The wet woods
are too harsh for the night,
no shelter to accommodate,

And heavy lightening raveled
up shadows among the windy trees,
the abandoned building
torn and stripped,

left with emptiness and isolation
no doors or windows but the
blistered cold wouldn't satisfy
the rogue on heist.

The city has too many eyes,
where one would pray and watches the door,

but the costume party wears
a mask,
a hobby never to be missed,
Elegant dresses danced
with the night.

high power and status
watches with vermin intentions,
violins full of life,
and the burning desire of brutal qualities consumed with intoxication.

Untimely badges
break's the party,
the search is on
but a dead Raven is all they found,

A noisome hall
form it's silence
many stands in costume,
and masks of disguises horror.

Through the eyes of the beholder
which took his way through the window,

Headed down the wet gloomy street only seen by the hem of his black coat faded into the snow on top of a speeding Chariot,

The guilty hands
of death always
escaped by the inches
of every last breath,

This one left a Raven
outside the window,
with it's broken quill,
blood on its feather
and the eyeball in its beak.

stears at the others
from inside,
looking with intense
state of shock,
flabbergastic how strange
the reflection of a Raven look from outside the dark snow of disturbed
lighten bolts.