Ravens lives where time is suspended, at the edge of reality, they are the messengers able to go from one side of the mirror to the other but they surely prefers to play in the wind and have a full conversation with the beast who claims songs and dances.
They preach and tell legends that only few can hear and the depth of their voice can pierce you or stroke you.
I could feel the raven’s wing. A caress never forgotten. Even an angel can’t compare, as the beak digs into the skin and knock at the bones, the eye captures my soul. It is the wings that calls for my flesh:
I hear you sometimes but I listen to them.
In the waltz between demons and virgins, I was caught forgetting all sins…It was in the dead of the night, while a murder of ravens were passing over the moon: Was I dreaming this moon as silver as the bird’s eye set in the most refined charcoal silk? A gem in its cradle, snug and tight staring right at me.
Torment and grace hand in hand swirling down the core of my soul, in the waltz between demons and virgins.
I hear them sometimes but I listen to you.