Above wavering boughs of the black maire, in
the watchtower window above the house of prayer,
darkness shields lustrous features there, and I
sense a deep chill of kind.
Such voracity is in that raven’s stare, I feel like prey
when talons tear; deep and dark the shadow’s lair,
set far within your mind.
Your raven eyes amidst the glare, make me feel pretty,
as you stare; lurking long, tenderly somewhere,
escape and you may find.
Aloft you glide from windows bare, I catch once more
your raven stare; ever postured, ever there – gluttonous,
consumed in black night’s fare, I pray devour and take me
far within your mind