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The Old Man was a landlord Rich and formidable Electric part of his hoard The tenants were miserable Raven knew this truth
Red, the raven flies in the northern skies. Black clouds growl on the horizon, while the faded orange sun rises in the east, the shimmering sea is but a sodden patch.
A girl worried for her furture A girl never satisfied A girl in her little brother's shadow A girl inspired by the sparkling darkness of Poe A girl wanting to be the best but knowing she never will be
I am a bird I am free to fly wherever I want But I choose to stay in my nest There are people out there who's job is to hunt But my nest is the best and I choose not to stray I love my nest
The day is long, its prospects dreary, and in this state I’m weak and weary. I have no drive and no desire; I need something that will inspire. Of movement and of thoughts I’m leery, yet to my mind there comes a query:
I think about you sometimes, Your laughter, your smile The fun times we had together before the fall Maybe we could have worked out Your fire was too hot for my ice
The day I first met you, I will never forget It was a chance encountering Not one I did expect To me you were nothing, A rumor, a myth, To me in my world You never did exist.
The Raven and The Light The bird that flys in the night, you shall call him crow. I may call him winged king. The name beats in my heart.
Far beyond the evergreen treeDoes the raven fly.High above the mountains tallWhere his harbors lie.
Read the pages of ancient lore,
Black sleek wings tinted with blood Death dark eyes devoid of love
So there I was, awaiting joyous as the hour drew more near us When the man would come and join us, my dear love and his Lenore. I crossed the room, nervously pacing, playing with my dress’s lacing,
I never felt more alive than
It flew through my open door screeching no more, no more. That big black bird of yore. Bringing with it its despair its regret fogging up the air. Screaming no more, no more.
It’s never vocalized or stated clearly, but it exists – that is, in theory A shadow cast by parents, teachers, peers, and more Labeled “Academically-inclined”; to an automatic clique assigned Once a hobby, now a chore
How beautiful the crow is as he sits up in the tree, ruffling up his feathers while staring down at me. His gaze is unfaltering and at me he continues to stare, I can see what he has endured and the pain he can bare.
Falling asleepTo your own bad poetryOf two yesteryears agoIs like the discomfort thatGrows when you firstRealize that you've madeThe worst of all possibleMoves in a chess game
We live a life with knowledge that death must come.The days of fall are gravenThe leaves fall upon the barren ground, the ravenCalls out in the midnight sun.
Winter comes. The wind howls and the ravens stick around. Perhaps for one more day, To scrounge around. They search forevermore, or perhaps forever born to be alone.
Death is hated for taking loved ones away It is most feared for it is the unknown
I And I stand here as marble flesh. Inflecting upon the Ravens breadth. A quarrelsome memory of the two Beating the Winter’s silent dues, As the tears froze into crispy flakes,
Floating on the breeze, Midnight flies on wings of soft feathers. Sighs of abandonment caress it's down.
Some birds, kind sir, never break free of their cage. Some birds think it nice inside the glistening, gold, columns of their prison. In example, a Raven born into its' golden “home”,