The night is here, so let the Raven take flight
and not fear tomorrow’s dawn. I linger between
dusk and dawn, I hear a murmur like a chuckle hidden
my chamber curtains drawn, is it you?
My ghost of the night, my enchantress begging me to
let you into my room and hide from the night.
You were stilled into fright by the might of the
knife that took your life that fateful dreary cold
December in 1795.
Oh I cried so loudly when your soul departed and
your grave lay bare and cold awaiting you, I wept
I shook; I fell to my knees and begged it to me not
you to fill that dreary dark cold hole they dug.
Now fingers gripping your coffin I try to hold it back
as they set you to rest as my rose was
tossed and darkness entered me forevermore.
Night time is so painful and I am unrest as I toss
and turn without you beside me my arms empty of
your tenderness and caress.
The battlements are quiet, the torches are out
the armor is hung and my sword is placed in its
sheath, the blood still stained from a downed
warrior I took so deep.
Revenge they swore and they took you from me
and left me this tortured soul, your torture was
unbearable as they made me pay the price by
taking you the only precious gift in my barren life.
Oh I cry, I weep, I scream, I bury my head in my hands
lost without you. I see you clearly my Lady with Raven
black hair to your waist with a beauty only a god could
bequeath. Sadly now I hear your whispers, longing to
reach out to me in my dreams.
© Copyright Vincent Moore 2013. All Rights Reserved