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REMNANT
The Book of Prophecy was open to a silent page.
Tis she thought of the biblical generation in forty stages.
Her heart she hears.
In this life that Ora lives, she has fought for wisdom to ensure longevity.
Salient she sits looking out in the sunflower fields.

The vented darkness encapsulated.
Her mind ponders on the spiritual world.
She was, she felt, as lost as Poe.
Her favorite Poet of long ago spoke through his writings to only Ora.

In the fields, stands the raven. 
A bird of blackness and such beauty but yet a threat to her, she felt she was 
     attached to a nonphysical existence.
Transcendental was the raven's head as she perched on the mantle.

She takes her breath every time because this woman fears what this 
     symbolizes.
Surcease, this woman would shout aloud. 
No respect for me do you have at my house.
Such demeanor is not to be tolerated.
This woman strikes out at the raven.

The raven flipped her wings beguilingly with decorum of her wickedness. 
The forty years has transgressed with the omen sent.
This woman was struck by the raven’s beak.
Mournful she lays with her memory defeated.

Tis morn came and she lays awaken.
Ora’s visitors found her in a pitiful state.
They prepared her chambers for her to rest.
Will she live to see the next forty years?

Of youthful existence, she was.
Of her age, she was not.
The raven figurative existence defined her knowledge.
Portent and fore token, a scoff of hope is the raven augury.
She is epoch to her well-being.

May this story end?
Nevermore
_______________________________|
PENNED ON SEPTEMBER 21, 2014!

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