RAVEN

 

Raven shifted on his perch

He lifted a foot

Placed it over the other, and quickly spun around

Then dropping his head

And lifting his ass

He shat

 

Watching it spiral down

Before splattering unseen amidst the bramble of the forest floor

 

He saw much from his perch

The fray of the forest floor

The hunters and the hunted

Out each and every day

 

He has noticed

Each day faces change

Trees change

Even his feathers change

But the world

Remains very still

 

He was grateful to be up here

The high open wind

Cleansing his face

And his mind

 

He likes the wind in his face

And thinks, it must have meaning…

And maybe messages

 

Vague whisperings

Fleeting and without substance

 

Some of the most meaningful things

Do not have substance

Take flying - wonderful – without substance

 

He soars

While watching the walkers

 

He thinks of himself

And has no false pretensions

He certainly has substance

But is without meaning

 

He is simply Raven on his high perch

In the wind

Nothing more, nothing less

 

Absorbing the heat and light

Then slowly

Fluttering away

Gone…

 

He wonders who is waiting out there

For him

Or his perch

In this world

 

He dropped his head

Lifted his ass

And shat again

 

He shifted on his perch, and thought

Now that’s reality

 

He was alone

It seemed he had always been alone

Oh…he has visitors

But has no false pretensions

While engaging in idle banter

He is still alone

 

He rises each morning

Perplexed

By the beauty of the day

And the problems within

 

It is then he begins cackling

With himself

And launching himself

At the bramble of the forest floor

 

By the end of the day

He is empty

Of everything

 

Each morning it begins again

He lays and creates

Problems of the new day

 

All the while

Tearing down the solutions

Of yesterday

 

A non-ending process

Each day

Of tearing down and rebuilding

 

He has come to greatly enjoy

This comforting daily routine

He enjoys knowing he has the ability to solve great

Complex problems

 

He knows he has become older

But other than his feathers

And the things around him

Everything is the same

 

He thinks

When I came to this still world

I came with my trunk

Filled with feathers, faces, and feces

This is my stuff

For this world

 

Nothing more, nothing less

 

His stomach began to turn

And churn

 

He had visions of food and thought

He would go look

For leftovers

In the bramble

Of the forest floor

 

He spread his wings

And hopped off his perch

Allowing himself to drop towards the forest floor

 

Then two quick beats and he leveled off

And began to soar

 

His eyes searched

Until engulfed

 

By sound

Both white and black

 

He was aware of his feathers surrounding him as he fell

Motionless

 

Just before landing amidst the bramble of the forest floor

He shat