Ravens Peace
Oh how she walks through the mist,
pistol clutched in her fist,
a dark angel she waits,
Her blood lust she sates,
the queen of the dead,
In a dress of ebony,
living in a state of harmony,
The Raven awaits,
for death she anticipates,
to fly free she needs,
but bound to the mortal coil,
she endlessly toils,
To find peace.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
