Monday, April 21

Raven Poem (part 1)

Senior Year, 2007

a Raven will Never slip

Thirty8 ravens rest ahead,
in the road I see them
cock-cock-cocking along.
I walk,
they stop.
I stop,
they fly.

Adoration is nothing but a twist of a lovely knife in
in a pathetic/needful heart,
guised in, well...
There is no disguise.

Infatuation becomes obsession,
a bane of existence/
an identity (?)
Who are you, who are you, really?


I don't believe you.
What makes you want me?;
what makes you want it even
And what when it is no longer it, but that, what then?
Will you want that more than them?
and when will (if ever) it [that] be me [them]?

(Yes, Selfish, I know)

Now 20nine ravens sit,
wobbling along the tree branches deftly.
Yet I still wonder,
impatiently hoping one will slip,

No. It won't happen.

I'll wishandhopeand cross my fingers, but

a Raven will Never slip

and I won't get what I want.

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