The Raven Boy Poem

One night I lay in want of sleep, but fair Adventure, dark and deep, was resting, waiting, captivating every thought my mind could keep.

And so I stole across my room, drawn by the Fates’ incessant loom, for whispers, swift and promising, were luring me into the gloom.

I balanced on the windowsill, undaunted by the creeping chill of night, for brightly overhead the watchful Moon hung soft and still.

Then swiftly, as if by a prayer, a Nighthawk, slicing through the air, appeared to rest abreast my lonely figure, as I waited there.

She peered at me through ebon eyes that sung of shadows, old and wise, and as she loosed her beak to speak
I listened raptly, hypnotized.

“O Raven-girl, your time is near!
Why must you wither, crouched in dreary,
pallid light? The ballad of your life is raging! Fly from here!”

I quickly rose, enraptured by this dark messiah, knowing I could never flee my bruised and bloodied land until I learned to fly.

So I, held captive by her claims, entranced by she who called my name so boldly, whispered “mold me as you will and make us both the same.”

Within a moment, I was changed and all my features rearranged, eclipsed by feathers, weathered claws, and eyes that saw myself estranged.

At this, although the light was dim,
I saw the Nighthawk, old and grim, take to the skies; within her cries
I heard her final crooning hymn:

“Behold the waxing Moon, and then look closely as it starts to wane.
Like ragged Ships and rugged Men, here and there, then gone again.”

And just like that, she disappeared, elusive as the Sisters, weird and wild; the night once more was mild and wretched dark no longer feared.

I soared on borrowed wings that night; bathed in the strange and spectral light that washed the world, I twirled and balanced, wraithlike, on the winds of flight.

I skimmed and sailed the velvet sea that roiled and tossed and cradled me between the hats and crooked backs and shadows strewn about the streets.

But Dawn, the Ever-present, curled her back, and gilded wings unfurled to usher in the rush of din that ripped me from my Netherworld.

I woke, as I am wont to do
When Night concedes her glory to the crystal-patterned mists of Morning’s journey into swirling blue.

And through my window, fading fast, my loyal Guard did set at last, obscured and blurred by wishful clouds that shimmered like a lake of glass.

A lake with waves much stronger then, or dreams that fade beyond my ken.
Like ragged Ships and rugged Men, here and there, then gone again.