THE RAVEN

The Raven – An Epic Tale

© Paul Murray 

(A small village - The Languedoc – France 1252 AD)

The raven he curls his claw · round the cold fingers of the dead
The night sky is bright with flames · in a shimmering choking red

And as the snow melts away · from the blast of the searing heat

The raven plucks the eye · from a skull of decaying meat

He takes to flight in the darkness · with a rustle of oily wings

Knowing his prize will imbue him · with the vision of future kings

The pyres of a nation lost · still smoulder on for days

And thence is the knowledge placed · that somewhere within the maze

Of corpses and boiling blood · a boy child still lives and breathes

Our raven must find this king · to fulfill the prophecy

The moon vacated the sky · as the sun burned her into day

Aloft midst the murky smoke · raven searched through the sad decay

At last when his heart was cold · and it seemed that his quest would fail

From under a mound of earth · the raven heard somebody wail

At first the child was afraid · and he screamed at the bird to go

But the raven beckoned him come · lest he perish alone in the snow

The boy scrabbled furs and boots · from the corpses of the dead

And somehow he knew he must go · on where the raven led

It was quite a sight to behold · as the raven strode from the field

Pursued by a filthy child · with a sword and a battered shield

For fifteen long winters then · the pair would become as one

And Obert had learned to shift · like he’d heard gods of yore had done

The raven was he and he was the raven · at once or as need arose

And thus through the wise bird’s eyes · he saw what the gods had proposed

In the orb of the vision quest · he saw his great land’s demise

How he would be called upon · to rally crushed people to rise

To vanquish the bloodlust of Rome · who slaughtered with no remorse

Then to face his ultimate foe · on a sinister, black spectral horse

And then as Obert returned · the vision began to fade

The raven could not reveal · the name of the man it displayed

The prophecy ran and unfurled · like a sail in the teeth of a gale

Thus Obert’s exploits became legion · and the subject of many a tale

And eternal as mournful war horns · as drums rolled and sabre did rattle

The raven would merge with his soul · at the onset of each savage battle

And Obert would fight like a lion ·  ‘til the enemy cowered and turned

And their ranks would be cleaved as a tree · while their weapons of evil were burned

In this manner Obert reclaimed · both the land and the faith they had lost

The people would have him as king · as each stronghold was challenged and crossed

In each battle he looked for that horse · for that rider he one day must face

At each siege as the skirmish was won · of this rival there wasn’t a trace

One night in the troubled king’s dreams · he imagined the raven transformed

And there at the foot of his bed · stood a maiden with hair like fresh corn

She lay with King Obert that night · their bodies entwined, trembling, sore

Their union had caused him to weep · for a love that he thought was no more

In the morning when Obert awoke · to a lingering scent in his nose

Of the maiden there wasn’t a sign · just a bloom on his pillow - a rose

From his window he saw the full moon · and Venus appeared in the sky

In the distance he thought he could hear · a newborn babe’s lone, plaintive cry

He called all his servants to task · and asked whence the infant was born

They all bowed their heads from his gaze · said they’d found her abandoned that morn

Then a peace hitherto strange to all · would descend on King Obert’s domain

The vanquished surrendered their swords · and the wiser ones chose to remain

For Obert bore malice to none · he revered life and ruled worldly wise

His people could never have known · the torment behind those blue eyes

No enemy challenged his realm · no more was there reason for force

Yet Obert would thrash in his sleep · waiting for that accursed black horse

And still no dark rider would come · instead his dear raven grew frail

‘Til at last with the gentlest of breaths · his lifelong companion’s heart failed

And in all of his conflicts and wars · where good friends had been injured or slain

Poor Obert could not comprehend · how this loss could bring with it such pain

He retired to the depths of the keep · and within it alone with himself

He pondered the trinkets of war · that were strewn like loose stones on the shelf

And the claw marks where raven had stood · were like scars in the base of his soul

He returned in his mind to that field · where began his life quest to be whole

As he opened his eyes to the room · and the looking glass next to the door

His reflection sat tall on that horse · and he wondered of vengeance no more

The figure dismounted the steed · and beckoned him enter the glass

And Obert felt tears stain his cheeks · from the pain that his life had amassed

And the face of the man was his own · and his eyes were the raven’s for sure

He embraced him and wept for his soul · in that looking glass next to the door

And inside him a burden was gone · while the tears ran in streams down his face

He heard one last flurry of wings · and at last was alone in this place

From the gloom of the keep he arose · and his armour he placed on a pyre

Thus purging his soul in the flames · his last conquest ascended in fire

When they breached the king’s drawbridge at last · and they searched every inch of that ground

Not a sign of King Obert remained · just the ashes he’d made could be found

And a girl’s laughter rang from the dark · all around them yet nowhere in sight

Ere the bloodline and relics were safe · from the forces that worked in the night 

Then high over castle and cloud · rose a raven like soot in the sky

And he soared over village and field · with a glint in his strangely blue eye

© Paul Murray  – all rights reserved