The Legend of Raven

It is cold here, in this waiting place...this place where tears belong Behind the gates, the iron locks...where sinking headstones dwell Where names that time erases, etched so deep with grief and pain She walks here in the dim, gray light... where the ravens weave their spell There is a legend, spoken in whispers...with trembling, foreboding breath... In whispered tongues, they wonder, ..."Is she an angel disguised as death?" They call her Raven. Is she real?....Is she a symbol?.....Or just a myth? Some claim to have witnessed her, the swish of her ebony hair the sheen of her porcelain skin, and the gossomer, flowing dress... ~ She is the legend that haunts them, she appears in their dreams Is she real? Do their eyes speak the truth? Is she all that they claim?.... Do the stories have merit...or only apparitions they've seen and heard? She walks among gravestones, kneeling down at each word She carries a weapon...in the dim light of the dawn The gun has turned cold now....as if long ago inflamed It held unspeakable heartache...such sorrow....and blame.... ~ The moss covered headstones, with etchings that crumble She touches and fondles, as memory tumbles She hears voices of anguish rising from out of the mist Calling..."Raven.....dear Raven.....do you remember the kiss?" Her heart and the shame....she's like a moth to the flame She cries out in despair, ..."How great was the cost!!" She knows how it is to walk with the dead The fog is her velvet, her home and her bed Dew is the blanket, stone pillows for her head The lilies and the laurel...in tangled design now entwined over markers...have withered on the vine ~ She walks alone among rocks.... she is yet, never knowing So bitter the truth, that stalks close beside her For she too died that day,...now her destiny is keeping Forever to wander....in searching and weeping... As lonely as the mist...alone in the fog....weeping forever... the girl of raven locks