The silence pierced,
A sharp shriek, the flap of raven wings
Dancing - black magic on the air,
Moving, darting here and there,
Taking the moment, this moment,
Into the next, where darkness feeds darkness
And love is the slap of wing in flight.

It is the bittersweet echo of the crypt
Where it feeds, silky feathers gleaming in shades -
Blue, purple, darkest dusk and black -
Reflecting the rays of twilight seen through
Iron bars, the melting of flesh within flesh,
A gloss of calmness painted serene
As he dances around the feast.

This is the Soul of the moment
Where life meets life, where death is life and
Death, the circle and cycle, the magic of this time,
The energy pulsating…so vibrant, so clear.
In the silence, broken, he moves like a black cloud,
A phantom bird of Spirit, cawing,
Full and heavy, taking flight again…

Dena L Moore
May 2, 2009