The Raven And The Old Man

This new addition of the Raven’s Tales was inspired by something that happened to me around six years ago. I was working in a construction site, across the street from an old convent. In this building, underneath the floors, we found a burial chamber, with small coves, that had served as graves for the aborted babies of the nuns that had once lived in the aforementioned convent.

It was a very eerie experience, and some of my then colleagues, were convinced that the place was haunted. Whilst I did not believe so, it did give an uneasy feeling, knowing exactly what those graves once housed.  The memory of the emotions we dealt with, as well as the memory of the burial chamber itself, is what inspired me to write the Raven’s Tales today, about this often unspoken, yet dark past of human history.

Until next time,
The Raven

The Raven And The Old Man

Deep within the hallowed core of the sheltered cave,
Hidden amongst the shadows, stands a solemn grave,
Aged by the shifting sands of time,
Upon the headstone, lies etched a cryptic rhyme,
“Hidden in secret shame, from a world who into we never came”
A quill, and parchment, lain upon disturbed dirt,
As a frail, old hand withers thanks to centuries of hurt,
Clutching the quill, ink well and parchment, upon a stone he sits to rest,
Whilst the Raven silently watches the author do what he does best…

For centuries, blood has poured from the old man’s hand,
As the Flock stood silently mourning the concoction of blood and sand,
For above the cave are entrenched the roots of the tree of the damned,
Therein the cave lies the solemn grave wherein a thousand tiny bones were crammed,
Upon the coves, thousands of ossuaries solemnly stand,
Remaining protected from the constant blood that drips upon the sand,
The cave, once a silent, hollow core, now a mausoleum,
Which has seen more blood, than a gladiator’s colosseum…

The old man’s hand shakes slightly as he begins to write,
Roman numerals listing horrors hidden from sight,
No names for the innocents never to be born,
Silence, not tears, for the ones they will never mourn,
The old man perceives the ossuaries and annotates them all,
As the hallowed core begins to echo the Raven’s call…

From the roots of the tree, descends the Raven into the cave,
Wilted Rose in beak, The Raven peers towards the solemn grave,
Placing the Wilted Rose upon the parchment, and takes the quill,
The old man begins to shake, finding himself unable to sit still,
Lifting the Wilted Rose, lies a word that had remained unseen before,
Written in blood was the single word the Raven called out, Nevermore…

Written by The Raven –  26/06/2015 ©

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