The Raven

Brown-necked_raven-620x466

The Raven

by V. L. Murray

 

 

I heard your voice today.

It pulled me from my

Somnambulance

And jarred my brain

Awake.

 

I’ve had no sleep.

The road crews work all night.

Sometimes,

It seems the sound will

Never end.

 

But I heard

Your voice

Today,

And it stopped me

In my tracks.

 

I felt the trees

Move in

Closer,

In sheltering

Comfort.

 

I felt the clouds tumble

Above me

And the tap of rain

On my head.

 

Your sound

So distinct,

Like a guttural

Crow’s caw, but one of

Power and

Force,

Of beckoning and

Demand.

 

I looked everywhere.

At first only the giant fir

Was visible,

And then you called out

Again,

And my eyes were pulled upwards

To your throne.

 

You floated on the

Point most high,

Connected to the greenery

Like a trampolinest

Who bounces

Again and again,

But without ~

Disconnect.

 

Your voice summoned the winds,

The sound you made ~

Notes of creation,

Like torrent and storm,

Thunder and sleet,

Dirt ~

And spit.

 

It was as if you had tried

The others,

The Word of Genesis,

The Om of Vedanta,

But none of them had worked

The magic you needed

To sing

The grey crystal rainforests,

The hundred foot trees, and

The almighty rock of

The Creator of All ~

Into being.

 

No,

Only your gravel of sound

Could produce this

Tumult of land you call

Home.

 

I felt the Ocean’s power

Move through me.

I felt the Earth shudder

And shift,

And then relax into

Stillness,

Like a wolf’s ~

Dissolving growl.

 

You called once again,

Your Mayan nose nodding

Up and down.

As the four winds

Butterflied their respects ~

At your feet.

We moved on,

The dog and I,  as

Once again the sound of

Man began to

Assault my nerves and

Ears.

 

I glanced back, and up,

But you were gone.

Disappeared into the

Churning grey of mist and cloud:

Heaven rolling past

To scoop you back and up ~

Into the heart of

God.

Copyright V. L. Murray

October 22, 2010

 

 

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4 thoughts on “The Raven

  1. Hi Lynne,

    I enjoyed your poem, even though it was a little deep for me. My granddaughter writes poetry and I don’t even try to pretend I understand most of it, but I do like the way poetry flows and sometimes, like yours, parts of it will resonate with me.

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