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Tis a Raven

'Tis A Raven 

'Tis a raven 
    'pon my head, 
Black and graven, 
     dead as dead. 
If I should wake 
     before the morn 
No more shall break 
     a golden dawn. 

'Twas a dark 
     night of nights, 
It left its mark 
    'pon restless sprites, 
If they return 
     before I rise 
Fear wouldst burn 
     my half-closed eyes. 

'Tis a mischief, 
     befit a child, 
A midnight thief 
     dreaded, wild, 
If I should feel 
     out of control 
Wouldst surely steal
     my dormant soul. 

'Tis ghostly screams 
     and black of wing, 
Of terror, to dreams 
     it does but cling, 
If I should stray
     betwixt life and death, 
It would but lay 
    'pon my breath. 

'Tis black as coal, 
     it dare not speak, 
My frightened soul 
     trapped in its beak,
No golden dawn 
    'pon my eyes, 
Where no child is born
     or old man dies. 

'Tis a raven, 
     the image of me, 
A child, craven, 
     in misery, 
If he should flit 
    'tween fear and dread 
I shall but sit 
     upon his head. 

©RJVHorton2019

Copyright © Robert Horton | Year Posted 2019

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Book: Shattered Sighs