Raven

"Teach them politics and war so their sons may study medicine and math in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music and architecture..." ---John Adams

A deep scar runs halfway across my chest
and halfway across my face, from brow to lip,
unpretty to look at, children cringe when they see me
I am the stuff of their nightmares
and for that I go concealed
so that none may see me and fear.

I walk alone, sharing company with the winds
at peace with the elements
I am content, but I’m sad.
The sadness, it sips through my hooded eyes
it is a sadness from within
for my physical scars are nothing compared to my scalded insides.

I am disillusioned by what I see
why can’t people understand
that their fellow human is a being just like them;
not a thing.

I have walked through many wars
carried the infant from the mother in a pool of red.
I have walked through desolated plains with that infant,
seeking to give it a home.
That home I am yet to find.
My eyes have dried up of tears
the iron clamps of not feeling closing in on my heart,
internally mourning
my colors have become gray
as heavy as this sadness.

You will see me silhouetted in the fading orange skies at twilight
my clothes flowing before me.
This is what I have come to be—
a shadow.

I am their conscience
they don’t wish to be reminded of their deeds
of how they made wives widows and children orphans.
These I try to look out for
when I watch the city late at night
when the people sleep;
invisible, I merge with the shades
never seen, never heard.
But then I have to retire to the fields once more
to be with the elements
where my adopted name
Raven,
was sung and is still being sung by creation.

I am the messenger
and I will prick their conscience
breathing my message songs into the air
to be carried by the wind to them in their beds
that they may wake to look for me
and they will not find me.
But instead will find signposts and directions
to where my covers lie.
For I have undertaken a journey,
a pilgrimage to that jagged hill
to exert my soul,
re-channel my thoughts.
And when I do come down from that summit
the world will be bright,
again.

(Excerpted from “Without a Name” a collection of poems by Val K, coming soon.)

Val K is a poet, and a nature lover. A collection of his poems "Without a Name" will soon be published by AuthorHouse, U.S.A. For personal contact, send mails to: leviathandepthsreturns@yahoo.com

About the Author

Val K is a poet and a nature lover.