The Craven, the Maven & the Raven

The Craven, settled in the west,

must sleep always with one eye open

lest any lingering morality catch him unawares.

No comfort found from within his habitat,

no healing for his bruised knuckles and knees.

Eyes hollow, heart locked,

he follows a threadbare path.

His song has no words,

yet he seeks his pied piper, to lead him

along a path devoid of resistance.

 

The Maven belches and grins,

but smiles not with his eyes, which never close,

lest any lingering, lisping equality

turn his face to the common folk.

Much comfort to be had from the fruits of others' labours,

exploited without guilt.

His words will fit the song,

else he changes the music,

to keep calling the tune for mankind to dance to.

They will surely follow,

even if he knows not where he is leading;

only the latest and greatest will do,

even if it is just a can of soup.

 

The Raven, cruel offspring of both Craven and Maven,

cares not about who occupies the castle

nor who works their hands to the bone;

all carcasses will be picked clean at the end.

He does not sing, he does not march;

he will not belong to the losing side.

Win or lose, live or die,

your best efforts benefit his dark desires;

blood red eyes see the place your soul once occupied.

Cruel laughter at your attempt at life,

his morning song is no mourning for you,

just exclamation to his god, his own reflection.

Reviews

[stars are far]

this is so great as alway Jermey..
keep that up man.. and keep us on touch :)

[Kenneth The Poet]

A powerful work, and I think Poe would appreciate this.

[Raven Starhawk]

This has a surprising lore that fascinates and stimulates my mind. I think the writing within is solid as a rock and in a way influential. You have a way with words that truly helps to navigate the imagination.