The Unkindness Of Ravens

Through shadowy veils of my mournful mind is the vastness of iridescent stars, their hopeful light does not comfort me. The very thought of not being in the treasure of your presence awakens the dulling grief of my heart's loneliness. The unkind Ravens have alighted on my cold sill, perching in their misery of silence. Such avian moroseness to be as ebony as eve's unyielding darkness, the onyx of their eyes in a deathly watch, their dirge unsung. Falling, falling, falling from the heady spell of after midnight's enchantment of spirits. Death's sudden arrival, his rattling and frosty breath, his moldy shroud and skeletal hands reaching. His hidden face chills my very existence. My time of passing is unknown, could I soon awaken in my pitch-black bedchamber with one solitary lit candle, his ancient bones at my side? Will he turn my own melancholic bones into ash with his frigid final kiss? In these desolate hours I hear nearby church bells peal heavily, tolling, tolling, for my funeral day, what bereavement has wrought! A deep gong of the grandfather clock, it's face reflecting the filled October moon of fate, fleeting misty clouds upon her golden glorious fairness. Edgar, was it your love, your desire, and my inspired longing for where Death has no dominion, to unite us, no cause to separate? Your suffering, Gothic prince, tell me it is no more. Your eyes the shadows of an eclipse, your literary works the haunting of my soul. Westminster's gates cannot contain your legacy, your mystery dust cannot conceal. Infinity cannot fade into the depths of the timeless cosmos. And I in my sallow sorrow will weep for you, always. ~