In a clearing in the forest, Along a meandering track. Stood seven giant oaks With their bark peeled back. And on every skeletal twig, Perched a big black bird. One thousand Ravens But not a sound to be heard. They appeared to be waiting, In expectant air. Anon, along the path they saw A man was standing there. His face was scratched and lacerated. His robes were torn to strands. And the blood of the innocent, Dripped, from his guilty hands. The Ravens stewed in their own silence. Condemnation in their eyes. The white witch of the forest dead. The murderer un-disguised. A moment passed, the old man walking Through their midst with care. Then all at once, the angry Ravens Took to the air. With Talons bristling, they pursued him, As the wretched fellow ran Through Bramble. Thicket. Sapling. Bushes Fast as an old man can. Overhead the Ravens circled, Until the sky turned black. But all the time the old man ran. Never looking back. From the forest the old man stumbled. Fell down in a fresh ploughed field. And laughed aloud as the Ravens gathered. Still he did not yield. The old man now incanted something, Words of a greater worth. Pulled up his sleeve and plunged his fist Into the soft brown earth. At this, a vesper blew around him, No more than a breath of air. It circled, going faster, faster. Tearing at his hair. Up and up the winds came howling, Sucking at the ground. And up above the Ravens spun helplessly, Round… And around... And around. Like broken kites the Ravens floundered, As rags in the storm of the spell. An evil whirlwind unleashed upon them, From the very gates of hell. Abruptly, just as it had started, The onslaught ceased to be, And a thousand smashed and broken Ravens Rained down bitterly. He stood and calmly looked around him. Raised outstretched arms to the sky, And shouted “Who can stop me now?” But there was no reply. Just the far off whisper, Of the wind amongst the trees. A moment of salvation, Blowing in the breeze. A saviour is inherent, Not a man but just a boy. A calling from the wild. Not in sorrow… But in joy.
Reason for writing:
I must say, at this point that this poem is a short passage from a book that I am currently writing (15,000 words so far). The book is not in verse but I wonder if it could be converted. You decide!
Birth sign: Gemini
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