The Raven, The Cradle And The Wilted Rose

Today has been one of the most traumatic days of my life, it began with such joy as well. As some of you might know, my wife, Mrs. Raven, was expecting our fourth child, and today was the day of the 12 week scan. We arrived there with hopes, anticipation, and in seconds, all those evaporated. We were informed that the child that we already loved so dearly and were desperate to welcome into our lives, had passed away, in the womb, two days ago. There was no heartbeat. In seconds my hopes turned to despair. In all honesty, emotional expression is not my strong point, so I turn here in hope to express my emotions, and to share one of my darkest and most intimate moments in my life, with you.

Until next time,
The Raven

The Raven, The Cradle And The Wilted Rose

Upon the tree tops rest a cradle, swinging to and fro,
Cascading between hope and fear, wanting to stay, choosing to go,
The winds of change usher in a fateful blast,
And in a twist of fate, the branch breaks, and the cradle drops fast,
Travelling at speed to the sands below,
A Raven arrives, just in time to watch it go,
It descends at a speed like never before,
His calls echoing throughout the dark sky, nevermore…

The Raven’s cries are in vain, as the cradle disappears into the darkness below,
Where there once was hope, now despair will only grow,
Its anguished cries echoes through the night as it desperately tries to crawl,
Into the darkness, to follow the cradle, beyond where shadows fall,
Flapping its wings with more fervour than ever before,
But this time, it is the sands that echo the words, Nevermore…

The Raven flies around, burdened with anguish and guilt,
It approaches a Rose, so beautiful, yet as it lands, the Rose begins to wilt,
Despondent, he turns away and flies into the sky,
The Rose had been living before, but as the Raven neared, it began to die,
Confused by this inexplicable notion,
Struggling with this venomous potion,
Where there was once hope, now lies despair,
What once gave joy, now remains a tearful prayer…

The Raven returns to the place he visited once before,
Takes the wilted rose in his beak, and flies once more,
Returning once again to the fields of sorrow,
Silently, solemnly hoping for a better tomorrow,
Landing upon the broken branch wherein the cradle once stood tall,
Before slowly descending upon the place where the shadows fall,
He takes the wilted rose, and plants it where the cradle had fallen through,
Unable to understand the pain, the emotion, whether even reality was true,
Taking flight once again he ascends to the tree of the damned,
That stands amongst the solemn graves wherein a thousand tiny bones are crammed,
Ever so weary, forever burdened by the cradle that did fall,
Forever unable to answer the cradle’s call,
A question burns within, “If thou is able to answer, please do,
For one cannot equate why this pain resonates so true,
Must therein I be plagued, by the grim hand of death?
Wherein does it saith that mine progeny must never draw breath?
If thy doeth not answer, then return I to the myths and tales of yore,
And hitherto until the Rose and Cradle doest grow, move shall I from this branch, Nevermore…”

Written by The Raven –  06/05/2015 ©


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