Mocking the Raven

When I was young, I would mock the raven, Never dreaming her harsh call was a cry Across the water to the castle of her brother King Bram, the Raven, ruler of the British Isles. Never did I dream of the destruction That would follow this desperate plea Sent upon the wings of a blackened crow. When I was young, I thought childhood Would last forever; secure in my father's care, Content in the loving arms of my mother, Never did I dream of the devastating war That would follow this messenger of our doom Carried across the seas to inflict upon our land A war of vengeful purpose and contempt. When I was young, peace prevailed in our land; Our King was just and beloved by his people. Then came a marriage, an alliance between Ireland and England. Queen Branwen; Discontent, lonely, hungry for power, Hated by her court for the intrigue And bloody sanctions imposed upon all Who did not obey her sanctimonious whim; Queen Branwen, beautiful daughter of England. When I was young, I stood beneath The blasted pine, looking up at the black bird As she screamed out her litany of wrongs, Watching as she lifted her wings to soar across the water. My father, general of Ireland, fell upon the shores Fighting to repel Bran's vengeful warriors; My mother, condemned by her beauty Fell among the vanquished women. When I was young, I did not fear the raven; Now I live in the court of the Raven King, He, who conquered my people for naught as his sister Queen Branwen, the White Raven, took her life And walks now, shriven and pale, among the graves Of the fallen warriors; forever singing her lament Of sorrow and regret; far too late, far too late. When I was young, I believed in the goodness of men. Now I am old; my raven hair is streaked with silver. The voice of Bran echoes through this palace As he cries out exhortations to his conquering soldiers; As he cries for peace and fellowship in his land. When I was young, I would mock the raven; Now I am old and have harnessed the power Of the raven's call. I cry to my people for vengeance; I wait for their rescue, as I haunt the halls of the Raven King. [Loosely based on the legend of Bran, the Raven King of England and Branwen, his sister, who was married to the king of Ireland. It is said that King Bran speaks still in England through the cries of the raven.] {by Deb Radke -- written for the contest 'Among the Dead'}