When Ravens Fly

When ravens fly, they fly like shadows.
They are the wind, they are the clouds.
Take the sky like the balding eagle.
Capture the sun and beat the light with
flickering feathers.
Snag a branch on a hollow bone
molten blood dripping down a black beak.
Eyes of endless pits stare far into the looming distance.
Remind myself still to breathe,
to keep beating wings,
to go into the orange streak of horizon
and disappear from the world.

When ravens fly, do they think
about crashing down, hitting the ice,
shattering realty.
Do they begin to consider
the pain and sorrow that comes with living.
Do they know,
how lucky they are,
to fly across the sky?
Like a lost sparrow,
without a home, without a nest, without somewhere,
somewhere to touch down.

When ravens fly, do they see
me? Do they wonder what I'm doing
so low here on the ground?
Do they laugh, cackle in my ear?
Why do they haunt me...
Why do they follow me so?
They are the spirits of the night,
come to capture me
and never let go.

When ravens fly, do they bring death?
Do they bring this depression over me?
Do they make me feel this way?
Is it all the raven's fault,
the dark gloom blanketing the sky?

I want an eagle, I want a light.
I want something to bring me out of
the darkness of the raven.