The Raven In The Box

Scared, timid, silent, sound it had no more,

Rough and dead, its breath seem to fade,

 Flesh darkened, ripped apart from the soul,

Cover the portions of my love,

The Raven pleaded for its dying soul.

I use to hear it sing in the Sun,

Under my porch it sat, glad ‘twas to sing until the sunset,

Eager I waited each day to listen to its tune,

My heart ached that day when I was sitting all alone,

That silent afternoon!

That abnormal silence crept and swept my porch,

I saw no Raven, nor no music and trill,

Cold numbness laid with me, within me in despair,

That afternoon seemed endless, with spear in its hand,

No word, no sound was in the air.

The Raven’s sound settled deep, deep in my pores,

When I oozed tears, and gave the last con amore,

I boxed the Raven deep within,

For eyes to see, nor for ears to hear no more,

The Raven once trill and melodies breathe no more! 

When We Sat Again

When at the table of life we sat again,

Voices in different pitches I hear,

Some whispering, some loud, some finely clear to my ear,

Faces I see happy, confused, calm and in despair,

Hands that make, break and that join in prayer,

I see people with hope, reliving and some dying in fear,

When at the table of life we sat again,

I see two being who are not similar,

One with might and strong lear,

The other filled with doubts unclear,

Sat they both next to each other,

When at the table of life we sat again,

Question to you I have my dear?

I've learned your lessons and I've learned not to fear,

I know how to separate it from love and abhor,

But doubt and fear still remains and breathe there,

Smiled at me she said I'm still teaching you and this is why you sit besides me my dear!

When at the table of life we sat again.

The boondocks memories

The mist of memories started to talk when I closed my eyes in the pitch darkness.
The vultures sat in the corner waiting for their turn to feed on leftovers let the king feast first from the memories and some that throttled the time were left as leftovers.
Did she not tell you the taste of blood, did she not tell you the oozing pain
I saw you stood their like a Specter who's afraid of his own growing  pain, bewildering eyes to some questions in gain.
Mockery, deceit, burnt memories, ashes I see, did  she not tell you the besiegement of her mind, did she not tell you the wall were strong to read her mind,
I saw you stood their like an unarmed man weak to the thrust.
Let the king feast onto  the memories and let the rotten be for the vultures.
Let the blood clog and may you be there to itch It again,

And let you be there to see her drenched in pain.