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.
Copyright © Joshua Voirin | Year Posted 2011
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