Morrigan in her tower
Be calm and quiet
my busy mind
but no...
for I'm afeared
that I might die
If one as troubled
stretched as I
should ever pause
for just one breath...
may be my last
as all the thoughts
like gathered stones
that have been smashed
collapse and pause
on top of me
on top of me
when light becomes
a white landslide
and brightness
washes over me
and darkness no longer deified
removes the blindfold
binding me
moved by strobing incertitude
and crippled by dubiety
never a breath or interlude
a knot in my sobriety
one day my God
just vaporised
before my eyes
lay down and died
and so I fill my busy mind
or all the time
is all the time
as second guesses
stitches of doubt
are unpicked by
a rapacious Raven
all that entails
now spilling out
fills up the empty
truth i bathe in
greedy , grasping
kronking beak
the beady eye
that watches me
from a pious branch
it occupies
a position of hard certainty
ridiculous
to grasp so hard
upon the knowledge
laden tree
doubt the condition
that plagues my vision
the emperor's clothes
that best suit me
throughout my life
through other eyes
Ravens on moor
on walls, roadsides
slow black Crow black
moon and tides
powered by the storm inside
surrounded now
by Moor and Sea
the dark that might just
swallow me
If I open up
from my exile
a tiny crack
an unforced smile
the crumbling façade
with no sustaining
whirlwind to mitigate
exposed charade
this page is framing
will slowly disintegrate
and the powdered bones
that were my home
my earthly throne
will blow away
will blow away
and dissipate
and so....
I gallop on
as thundering hooves
ring loud inside my head
they Shake and jar
my bones and skull
and fill my veins with dread
but I hang on
as bits fall off me
and live by wits
that truly cost me
for there is no
fevered manic, busy, life
that does not exact a hefty price
and still the coal black
crow black bird
the Raven
watches me
ebony feathered
hackles weathered
a beard
perched in a tree
the hungry Raven
sees through friends eyes
the not so common sense they share
they feast on
those who have met
grisly ends
untroubled by Voltaire
and it is me
the wilful
stupid me
who will not surrender
screaming at the oceans
snarling face
daring the waves
to crash
as between the rocks I dash
afraid if I should lower sails
that i will miss the rain and gales
come off the rails
and all against which I have railed
it is this momentum
and this madness
that picks up and carries me
the shroud of light
that shadows sadness
breaks the heavy chains of anxiety
and the watching
ancient Raven
I know that he is waiting
I will not calm
my busy mind
in this the witching hour
maybe the Raven watching me
is guarding me
protecting me
maybe that he, is really she
Morrigan in her tower
