Mr Corvus
Through dense cocoons of swirling sleep
and drapes of silent night,
long winding dark brings shivers deep
neath skies bereft of light.
A haunting breeze begins to moan
as age-gnarled branches creak and groan,
a haunting breeze,
a haunting breeze,
exhales a breath as cold as stone.
Black feathers shroud a moonless sleep,
malignant auras swell,
dank undergrowth begins to creep
where dying leaves once fell.
A glint of eye from shadows bleak,
a hooded form, a corvine beak,
a glint of eye,
a glint of eye,
to prey upon the frail and weak.
Then plummet into wakeless sleep
amid satanic fire,
where life and hope will slowly seep
to hell’s eternal mire.
As midnight chimes and dreams turn sour,
observes the raven from his tower,
as midnight chimes,
as midnight chimes,
all souls await the witching hour.
Copyright © Sharon Tideswell | Year Posted 2011
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