Chasing Brave




Title photograph taken by Irene Langholm. Click image to visit her studio.



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Elffor “Ravensong”





Loss comes to us all
Often when we least expect it
Matters not defences we’ve erected
Death cares not for best laid plans
Needn’t ask permission, neither reward indecision
Take into account condition as we take the Reaper by the hand
Borrowed time requested back
Cutting losses dressed in slack
Lacking mercy courtesy of urgency to actioning the blackness
Knows just when to strike and wields the scythe with great exactness
Acting out impassively, yet drastically impulsive
Finger on the pulse with only single-minded motive
Seen it time and time again
Scream inside each time death comes to play
Leads another cut down in their prime away
Like hateful fucking tidal wave
Tsunami chasing braves


Shows its face whenever it sees fit to close a chapter
All-in like a method actor calling all the shots, applying pressure to the fracture
Drooling as the blood clots in our ventricles, essentially in rapture
With clutches trading touch for capture
Feeling for lack of sensation
It breaks our spirit, numbs our senses, lending not towards commiseration
Will not cease until it sees us sprawled out across a drainage basin
Grating on our expectations
Ever more impatiently
Waiting for the perfect murder
Less it wish to further act disgracefully
Lead direct to suffering
And drag us over scorching coals
Boring holes in hopes and dreams as powers that be have already decreed it was only ever agreed we play supporting roles
Standing round in robes of mourning, bawling for the taken
Scrawling names in gravestones under the all-seeing eye of


A steely gaze in which to take great comfort during storm
An infinite number of ways to parade light and shade to the riddle of fate in one unblinking stare
It has something to share
One fine day
Shall offer a flame should our hands need to warm
Yet, only when true to the innermost form


I can see now
More crystalline clearly than ever before
The door in the floor is no more quite so fearsome
For, I hold a clue where it leads
Those I have lost are within me, you see
I am the keeper of the rusted grey key
Have unlocked the magic in me
Know of my soul and where precisely it breathes
And all I can see
All about me
Are reasons to dream little dreams and go bigger
Reasons to release your finger from the bleeding trigger
Reasons to honour the fallen by calling their name with not single word spoken in vain
Not single word spoken at all
For they are home
Within us all
The mighty never fall
And not a solitary drop of Viking blood be spilled by the slain
As our souls live and breathe in their names
Seem outrageous?
Simply ask the raven





Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill




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