Flight of the Raven

Flight of the Raven


Wings clipped, I watched its flight
Silent, illuminating the dark
for a moment, then out of sight
A distant memory.
Solo warrior much maligned,
Life’s sharpened fine your chiselled beak,
Your plumage rich and so refined,
To fly beyond the highest peak.

A Celtic myth upon your breath,
For History is your battlefield,
A lone spectator, watching death
Make waste of man, and broken shields.

The harbinger peruses you,
but still aloof you surge above,
for down below the hallowed few
are wrapped in swabs of endless love.

Let shadows fence desire
And mystery run its course,
For in this bird there breathes a fire,
That glows with no remorse!