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Poems On / About RAVEN  5/5/2016 3:39:40 AM
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Love Story

In a dark, haunted house, lives a princess of the night. Far away from civilization, where nobody dares to live. Spider webs hanging on every wall. Her only friend, a raven upon her shoulder. Dancing her mystical performance in the glow of the full moon. One night she called upon the raven. ”Raven, do you think there is another person in this world who loves me? ” The raven could not answer. For you see ravens can not talk.

Years have passed. Now at the age where she doesn’t want to be alone anymore. But, knowing that there was no one near her. She became very distraught. She called to the raven once more. “Raven please find a person to love me! ” And away flew the raven, obeying the princess of the night.

Days turned into months, yet the raven still had not returned. Her faith slowly started to wilt into nothing. “If someone does not want me.…then I cant bear to look upon my reflection any longer! ” upon her bed lay a dozen white roses. Grabbing a dagger, she struck her heart. Her breathing becoming shallow, as she falls to the bed. White roses scatter to the floor.

In a darkened forest, there stood a transcendent castle. In it lived a prince.
Every full moon he traveled to the haunted house of the princess, just to watch her mystical dance in the moonlight.
He had many roses all around the many walls of the castle. Some old, some new. The guilt of never giving them to her filling his heart with great pain.

The raven flew onto the prince’s shoulder, startling him but for a moment. “Hello, raven. Where are you from? ” The raven having had tried to speak before with little success suddenly began to speak clearly. “Dear, prince, my master has sent me to find a person to love her forever.” The astonished prince asked, “Who be your master, raven? ” The raven replied “The princess of the night.”

The prince reminisces the first time he laid eyes on the beautiful princess;

The princess looks up at the moon. The light shining onto her face. Her eyes green as the greenest peaceful pastures. Her hair dark as ravens, skin pale as smoothest pottery. Her midnight darkened gown twirling in the wind as she dances upon the wind. Carefully he listens as she sings a song, her voice as a hundred angels sing into his ear.

“Prince! ” The raven yelled. Breaking him out of his preoccupied mind. He watches as the raven flies out the window, realizing where the raven was headed. He dashed down the stairs, out the door, and to the stables. Mounted a horse and took off towards the haunted house in the middle of no civilization.

His horse ran as fast as lightning. Getting there just as the raven flew through the window. Climbing in after, noticing the discoloration of the floor, eyeing spots of blood. He followed the blood to the door of the princess’s bedroom. Opening the door he saw her body on the bed.

Tears fall as he kneels beside her bed. Touching her black, midnight hair, feeling her smooth milky skin. Grabbing the dagger, he swiftly pulls it out. He picks up a white rose, fisting her cold, lifeless hand around it. Looking towards the darkened sky, he notices the full moon, shining down onto them. Tears slowly come even more, remembering the first time he saw her.

Bending down, he kisses her cold, soft lips. Whispering into her ear “I love you, princess of the night.” The raven flies onto her bloodstained chest, bends its head towards her ear. And whispers something. The prince stares at the raven, wondering what he is doing.

The prince gets up to leave, but hearing a loud “thump” made him turn around. The raven lay upon the ground dead.

Bending down towards the raven, he sees a rose, half white half black. He looks at the others as they to were turning black. Standing up he looked towards the princess. Before his eyes the blood was slowly disappearing. Walking towards her he saw her chest rising and falling, eyes fluttering open.

The first thing she saw as she awoke, was a very handsome man. “May I ask your name? ” “Prince of the night.”
Her cheeks turned hot. “I am the princess of the night.” “I know who you are.” She looked at the ground. He took her face in both his hands, “Princess do you know how beautiful you are? ” She looked into his eyes. “Thank you.”

“I love you, princess of the night…My princess of the night.“ She looked at him. Until she felt a pair of lips on her own. Kissing him back just as eagerly. “I love you too, prince of the night! ”
Rebecca Hall

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Torch Bearers (Extremely Old) .

The storm wafted away to reveal the setting. A farmhouse painted abandoned in the wakes of the rooster in the early renaissance of spring. The sunlight hardly skimmed the surface of the horizon as it illuminated a raven’s silhouette. The bird had been through so many storms, so many hails of shotguns, and so many felines and motors that it appeared to be as ancient as the farmhouse itself. Like the falling down structure, it had patches of itself missing – torn away feathers, a chipped beak, and a wounded leg. One wing was winded and withering away, so much so that when it flew it was lopsided like a painting hung in an insensitive hurry. Despite all of this, it was alive. More alive, even, then it had ever felt in long-ago flights through the windiest of weather. And you could tell. You could see the vivacity in its sharp eyes; you could recognize the living wisdom before you even noticed the dilapidated wings.
It was perched atop a scarecrow’s decaying arm, contemplating what it would do now that the rabbit had gone. It was not exactly sure whereto it had disappeared, but it had left the sun looking so much brighter.
The raven was always watching that rabbit like a mother watches her child at a crowded amusement park, waiting for the rabbit to notice its watchful gaze. Harm was not in the bird’s mind. It was simply fascinated by the rabbit, wondering how it could hop so wonderfully fast when frightened, wishing it could feel the white fur that laced the rabbit’s back. But the rabbit, too engrossed in its own beauty and mysterious world, never noticed the raven. Sometimes it saw a black shadow out of the corner of its eye, and waved it off as hazardous – nothing it could eat – and decided to pay no heed to it. Finally the bird had been so weighed down by the wistful longing it felt that it needed to fulfill the desires it had to make contact with the breathtaking ears. It swooped down in a desperate rage, a bullet to a victim’s chest, desperately reaching out to caress the rabbit. Mistakenly terrified, the rabbit disappeared in a cloud of dirt, leaving the raven utterly bewildered and miserable as it collided with the ground like an atomic bomb.
For days it dozed in the dirt, dejected, angry at itself and the rabbit, swearing it would never become fascinated with another living thing again. One morning, as it croaked into the wind, a small figure appeared in the distance, its tiny fuzzy nose twitching as it carefully skipped along the field. The raven, forgetting all of its valuable promises to itself, lifted its head hopefully. Again, it admiringly stared at the oblivious rabbit, torturing itself little by little, until again, it soared in hopefulness, speeding towards the furry creature. This time the rabbit didn’t budge. It stared observantly at the raven, and sniffed the bird in acknowledgment. The raven was dumbfounded, and followed the rabbit around for weeks. The rabbit never paid much attention to it, yet the raven was blissful, stricken with an arrow that made it feel like it was floating somewhere in a dream.
During the angry toddler fit of a heavy rain, the rabbit had decided that it valued only its solitude, and that the raven, a decidedly pesky little thing, was becoming a nuisance. It turned around and bit the raven’s leg, forcefully, and ignorantly sped away. The raven was stranded in the throes of confusion. For months on end, it distanced itself from the rabbit, terrified to even approach it. It still watched yearningly from the stuffed scarecrow, dreaming of the day when the rabbit would finally accept it. The rabbit had plans of its own. No matter how the raven tried to approach it, the rabbit would reject the raven cruelly, and during those days that they spoke not to each other, it would hardly give a thought to the bird. These situations went on and off for months, but everything must change.
One morning the raven attended its usual post, and waited for the rabbit to do its morningly routine in the field. It had another scheme to lure the rabbit, and it was as determined as a soldier at war. But the rabbit never appeared. The raven was disorientated, but decided to reason with itself, certain that this would be a wonderful opportunity to forget its past mistakes. Though it knew the dangers of the surrounding highways, and the fact that maybe the rabbit had met with one of these perils, it worried not. After awhile, it began to find the pieces of its precedent self. It transformed back into the beautiful ebony bird it once was, no longer trying to be the rabbit it could never be. It was only fearful that the rabbit would return and once more steal its identity, but it tried not to think of this.
And so there it sat once more, looking out into the endless empty canola fields, still yearning for something that maybe one day it would find. At least now it knew to never pine for one who was ignorantly content with itself when it had never fully lived. It had had marvelously perfect fur, but it had never lived the thrill of escaping a cat’s chase. Its nose was in perfect structure, and yet it had not traveled great distances and spoke wisdoms to other creatures while learning new ones. It hopped in perfect composition and yet it had never escaped a creature’s biggest fear – man.
So the raven cawed in exquisite cadence and, somewhere in the distance, another raven replied in an equally perfect rhythm.
Alison Rosalie

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The Raven Crows

The Raven Crows
by Charles Robert Hice on Thursday, November 22,2012 at 9: 27pm ·
The Raven Crows
The Raven stretches its wings and flies into the gray winter skies while the raven flies it Crows its rawkish voice makes aweful noise
it blows the wind it howls and sounds like a mechanical noise inside the wind
the noise pretends to be the raven as it crows it flies it crows and flies it dives down into the wind and sounds like a noise falling fast and then it sort of dies and falls away not the sound it echoes and it blows
in the middle of the night no one can see the ravens flight but they hear the voice the noise the sound even the wings they flap they glide silent and they hide
The raven seldom crows when it is in its glide it falls and hides no one can see the feathers as it plummets from the sky it moves in a silent fashion
as the raven glides it hides from the eyes of the men it has a sense of reality and a purpose as it glides it looks neither to the left or to the right finally it is satisfied with its destination in its sight the raven crows one final time and plummets like a stone into the night and suddenly a poem is come to earth as Poe hears his famous bird not the crow the rook or the blackbird as it sings but the Raven as it speaks to only him
The Raven Crows
Charles Hice

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Northern Nursery Rhyme: Raven, Raven (August 12,2015)

Raven, raven sitting on a tree
I see you and you see me.
Raven, raven, dancing in the sky
Turning summersaults as you fly.
Raven, raven, mimicking the sounds
Of silly little doggies barking on the ground.
Moira Cameron

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