87.) raven

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When the spiral down's as good as the flight.
And the day is as dull as the night.
That's when ravens come out of the dark to bite.
They'll hunt and swallow down the light.

You aren't like your cousins who feed on flesh.
You'd rather fly through the heavens to dive back down to feel fresh.

You glide with a dark elegance that haunts me still.
Perched upon dying winter branches on trees that grow on the same old hill.

You witness the witch stir her cauldron and thieve her crystals and eyeballs.
You take them to your master, you are loyal, you always listen to his calls.

Picking on corpses is what crows do, you'd rather watch from afar and listen to the moon.
With mystery in your soul, your aura, your master plagued with maroon.

You cry shadows that dissipate deep into the night's mist.
And leave a tiny ruby hidden away in the palm of your master's fist.

But now that you're gone, I let your corpse float on the black water, watch as it drifts away.
Deep into the ageing night, deep into the newborn day.

Never to rise, never to breathe again.
Only to decay, to be at peace or something close to zen.

My dead raven, you were like no other.
Like a ghost that haunts and kills every brother, mother.
︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎
    𖦊      𐀔  𐃸   𖦊 ʊ
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