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Rebirth


 

The raven flies straight into the night

The bringer of darkness, creator of fear.

Feeding on your fright

You see but do not hear.

He is a necessary evil with no

Story to be told.

Enveloping life in a truthful cloak

There is no escaping only to behold

The world that this earth has become.

Sick and dying with freedom.

Freedom to kill, injure, and torture

With no consequences we murder.

But the raven flies in to remind us all,

After our reign we must fall.

 

The raven flies straight in a never faltering line.

Through the thick smoke looking so divine.

Over the stacks protruding from the black.

He is bringing the future never looking back.

He is the bringer of darkness but not of death.

For in the darkness a new future is born.

And in this new future we do not have to mourn.

The past is behind us but only with work.

In the darkness our past will always lurk.

Because to forget is to forgive and there is no room for that.

The raven heals like an ever-watching cat.

Always around death, every body and every burial.

Not to feed but to heal for real.

And when you think there a sign of evil,

Just remember it’s because they’re surreal.

You’re afraid not of the unknown but of the truth.

That in those dark, never ending eyes, you see yourself.

 

The things you have done are in the past.

Never forgotten there to last.

But the raven will come dark wings outstretched,

Here to help but not to be used as a net.

The red moon shines through the clouds,

Red with the blood of the past.

And surrounded by the howl of hounds

The clouds are thick and black and cast

A long shadow over the sick and dying land.

As you stare you see a hand,

Not a hand but the raven

Flying toward some blissful haven

It’s blurry, only a dark streak across the moon.

 

The raven flies straight,

Always on the same course

To let you soak in your remorse.

It’s talons sharpened to a glistening point.

Poised at a post ready to anoint.

Your soul into the prison you have made.

And your guard guilt ready to scathe.

The raven flies straight into the night.

Bringer of hope, creator of light.

 

 

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ben.devore.1

I am a senior in high school and I don't like writing poems.

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