I hear the ravens call
I see the dead mans fall
For once more i hear the ravens crow
Of the words nevermore
Just like that lonley man
That sat with a book in his hands
Stairing at a picture of his lost love lenore
Kowing she will never return to his door
As he hears the ravens call of nevermore nevermore
I will sit here by myself nevermore hearing the ravens crow
But signs of that raven will nevermore go
-Oi Boi Alec Wade
Grey is a rain cloud about to burst
It's a silver lining that's been tarnished
By endless stormy weather
Grey is a hard stone
It's a treeless mountaintop
It's emptiness and solitude
Grey is the head of a sledgehammer
Shattering a boulder
Into small manageable fragments
Grey is a sheet of rain
It's Mother Nature's equalizer
It's the handle of an umbrella being extended
Grey is a sigh of relief
-Lisa J. Parker
Death makes angels of us
all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders
smooth as ravens claws.
-Jim Morrison
A BOAT, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July--
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear--
Long has paled that sunny sky;
Echoes fade and memories die;
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die;
Ever drifting down the stream--
Lingering in the golden gleam--
Life, what is it but a dream?
-Lewis Carroll
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight.
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there — I do not die.
- by Mary Elizabeth Frye
Above the cloud with its shadow
is the star with its light.
Above all things reverence thyself.
-Pythagoras
The Tree of Death
There is nothing more welcoming in this world
Then to sit in the shade of a tree
And eat of its flesh
To spit the seeds upon the ground
And watch the saplings grow
From your hunger.
I come to the tree and eat
When I feel the world pressing on my shoulders
When I am alone
When I am upset
When I am undone
It is a response as easy as pouring another tumbler
Is to a drunk
I eat of the tree
And the tree eats of me
It drops seeds inside my bones
And tangles its roots among my heart
And lungs
Sometimes I venture off
And the roots follow me
Like a string of breadcrumbs in a shadowy maze
I can always find my way back
It is my birthright
Sometimes a faint voice comes among the shadows
Of the forest
Pleading for me to break the bond
And come away
From the tree
But who would listen to such voices?
I do not listen
I do not do what I want to do
So I turn away
and cling to the expanding darkness of the tree
and it clings to me
with hideous strength of its magnetic pull.
-Thomas Turner
When you walk to the edge of all the light you have
and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown,
you must believe that one of two things will happen:
There will be something solid for you to stand upon,
or, you will be taught how to fly.
by Patrick Overton
Wings folded
In the crux of darkness
In the luxury of silence
One eye shut
Another open
To the daylight of dreams
-Dogfish
The Raven
Every night a raven visits me
its feathers dark as its future
every night a raven visits me
its eyes full of dreams
every night a raven visits me
whispering whispering
every night a raven visits me
telling tales of sorrow
every night a raven visits me
telling a forgotten memory
every night a raven visits me
its hart full of a wanting
every night a raven visits me
sharing words, that don`t want to be said
every night a raven visits me
every night i fly
my feathers dark as my past.
-muniro ali
Does wisdom perhaps appear on the earth as
a raven which is inspired by the smell of carrion?
by Friedrich Nietzsche
