Tourmaline Visions (17)

 

 The raven took wing before knowing why,

he felt the call catch and tug as he

moved along and inside the barriers of air and earth.

The copper tang in the wind,

 ruffling through his feathers,

 a distinct change from the previous calls,

and the raven knew who it was, 

knew and must answer.

Yet there were preparations to make,

even on the wing.  

He pulled the memories deep into himself, 

and sent out his will 

to travel along the breezes,

searching… 

The Ravens would come he knew,

they felt it too,

they heard the song,

felt the uneasy balance,

they would heed the call.

Even if it were the last.

The Ravens would come…

TBC

©jayetomas2019

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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