Sunday, November 25, 2018


Here's a poem I wrote while on a walk today. I figured I'd reproduce it here; let it see the light of day. Enjoy.

When I look at ravens, I'm at peace with death.
When I look at ravens, the end is not grim.
Something about their endless black and mysterious ways
Makes me feel it'll be OK.

The world just is, it is, it is; it was and it will be.
The world is just a tiny flake
On the blackness of eternity.

So when I look at this raven here, hopping on the lawn,
A dirge is not a dirge instead
A dirge is a beautiful song.

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