Lullaby of Corvidae

 

 

 

Featured art by Maren Klemp. Click title image to visit her studio.

 

 

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Filip Lackovic “Flight of The Raven”

 

 

 

 

there were echoes in the halls
as i let go my remorse
there were whispers in the atrium
unbridled as my thoughts
amidst the wild geranium
i favoured nature’s course
as through the fays
with blooming grace
i walked

 

my bare feet barely touched the ground
so carefree was my stride
a rare feat for a deadbeat known to veer off to the side
could scarcely eat the farewell feast
prepared for my arrival
suggesting i had died in the reprisal

 

the comeback trail
stood gaunt and pale
the haunted trees
wore awkward veils
purportedly the autumn gales
had come undone when passing
the steepened breeze
had weakened leaves
that overhung the sullen eaves
and as they dropped
my heart then stopped
at second time of asking

 

the first was at request of fate
revealed to steal my breath away
beneath the sheath
oppressive weight
impressed upon my lung
to designate projected rate
of taint to all possessed estates
i shed every recessive trait
that ever claimed me spun

 

there were corsets on the roses
long divorced from juxtaposing
there were hornets on the petals
midst an open sprawl of nettles
there were corvids in the trees
and my exorbitant unease
displeased the fallen autumn leaves
thus i bid caution sweet release
the rushing waves were cutting lathes
reprised my scream but nothing came
beneath the raven’s lulling gaze
i bid adieu to culling phase

 

my bare feet barely touched the ground
beneath the most becoming rays
the crushing weight of hunted prey
then simply fell away
in numb of pain
i summoned faith
from deep within
uncovered grate
with expectations somewhat great
my eyes didst nowise wellaway

 

there were echoes in the crawlspace
of eternity’s refrain
the roses had unfurled
each pearl of oyster shells reclaimed
my bare feet barely touched the ground
so carefree was my stride
could scarcely see the woods for trees
could barely breathe, in kind
nary one time in my life
had i been sighted blind
aside from the time that the child in me died
my wide eyes cried to breathe him back to life
perceived of raven’s lullaby
another place
another time
reprised through everlasting gaze
the child inside survived

 

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

 

 

 

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