Sonnet 441

The raven rides on wings of ebony
His blackened soul to tarnish heaven’s air,
That ragged blight that skyward eyes oft see,
Called by foul fate to feed on death’s despair.
So then this symbol dour of dark macabre
Brings thus unto the world a visage grim,
Stark images of ruin and corpses gnawed,
Tableaux of Hell in living light now limned.
A devil’s angel so beset on earth
As clever yet as any that gained flight,
Swoops down on hearts where blessed hope is dearth
And where no flower of joy may e’re see light.
Oh bird of doom leave now that graven shrine
Wherein but lies the dearest heart divine.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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