My Laura’s Raven

My Laura’s Raven

My Laura’s Raven

Midnight is a time pondered by so many,
who fear the unknown and get such delight?
with fright, over myths that lurk and hide
out in the woods at night.

My chamber door opened wide and
in you flew, not afraid to catch me napping,
a total stranger you were tapping to come in
who took flight from the darkened woods,
to shine your host upon my bed post not
lost just here to rest awhile.

The fire was dying and the embers
were so tired of glowing softly as
you perched above me, pondering
with sorrow for tomorrows light to
break forth.

 

 

 

 

So come my feathered friend
and sip the nectar that I pour for
you and me, to see what becomes
of this adventure from this night
you chose to fly, and watch me
with your black eyes.

My Laura has not returned and
my sorrow is great for her fate,
was hung with her that awful night
the barn door swung open and
revealed her broken body
hanging there.

I have so many fears, as I watch
the red silken curtain by the
bedside move so silently and
terror strikes my heart this lonely
late night, but you my friend
have come to soften my fears
with pecking order and caws
to me so dear.

With surprise I let you enter
through my window, knowing
that the tapping of your beak
would not disturb my thoughts,
or loneliness yet in truth I felt
you my Laura under guise as
the Raven who would call so
late this night, while I was
napping through it all.

I often stay up late deep in
Thought, while peering into the
unknown darkness all around
my soul, while stillness quiets
fears, and whispers of her voice
keep haunting and taunting me,
so endearing to my soul is she.

Wondering I stood there fearing
but not doubting the dreams I have,
while the silence is often broken
by her sweet memory that echoes
in my mind, the night she showed
herself so many years ago, on a
back road so far travelled.

You my faithful Raven hovered
overhead above my bed, and
though I did not fear the grim of
your fluttering wing I knew you
had travelled far from your nest
to find me lost in thought but
not in my grave just yet.

Like a statue you sit and adorn
but with your watchful eye, you
never scorn me, looking back in
wonder why you appear before
me at this late hour in my fortress,
hidden behind my chamber door.

So Raven, share with me your
discourse and lonely plight and
why you choose to take this course
darkest of nights, your feathers
are trimmed and not a flutter doth
they bring.

I took my robe and covered
Myself, revealing my shivers
trembling from the noise that
hung outside, and wanted to
come in to be a friend, I thought
not so.

Tempted though I was to share
with you the lore of myths, and
angels who call at me to enter
their domain, but faint I am, and
sickly do I feel for you my Raven,
I will forever be your friend.

My loneliness is cursing me, yet
with you here I fear nothing, for
your presence has awakened
me and the wick grows short,
while shadows begin to be no
more, my soul is floating over
my concrete floor wanting to
escape, but stay forevermore
with me the woman I adore in
name shall she be called Laura
forever more.

© Copyright by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more.

He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published.In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.
Vincent Moore

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Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more. He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published. In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.

8 thoughts on “My Laura’s Raven

  • September 18, 2018 at 11:04 AM
    Permalink

    This relates strongly to Poe with expressions of love lost and the raven “come tap, tap, tapping…”. Poe is one of my favorite poets. Well done, Vincent.

    Reply
  • September 18, 2018 at 4:27 PM
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    You think I had Poe on my mind when penning this:-)) Yes indeed, he is also one of my favorite poets of all time, he has moved my spirit and soul often. Thank you Phyllis for your kind comment. Cheers.

    Reply
  • September 18, 2018 at 10:08 PM
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    I guess its a trio, yes, Poe is definitely one of my favourite poets of all time, his words did inspire me to follow in the footsteps, at least write poetry for my expression, and in my own way. Beautifully penned as always Vincent, you sir, are one of my favourite poets of all time also. Cheers!

    Reply
  • September 19, 2018 at 8:19 AM
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    And express yourself in your own way you certainly do my prolific poetic friend. You sir have a style all your own,and that’s a key element to have, your signature and only yours to own for all time. Tony you leave the world with much work accumulated, to consume and relish your magnificent penmanship. You’ve stirred the pot of literature, covering a vast array of subjects, your material never wanting. So I take my hat off to you as well, as one of my favorite poets of all time. Expression is key in poetry and that you have no problem doing, your work is articulated with your command of the English language.

    I humbly thank you for considering me a favorite of yours, my work is meek compared to yours, but I’m happy to have experienced this life as I have, it’s allowed me to share some of it with this world. I truly wanted primarily to leave a key for my children to find and open the door to the mystery of their misunderstood father and truly find a tad of respect for some of the work he will leave behind. Thank you Tony for your appreciation and understanding.

    Reply
  • September 21, 2018 at 10:58 AM
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    You my friend have conjured up your best Poe poem. He is one of my favorites as well. And you have done a fantastic job utilizing his style with that brand of your own. This is a great piece very deep, dark and sad indeed. Reading the comments I hope your children will be able to appreciate your work as we have here. It is a treasure for sure.

    Reply
  • September 21, 2018 at 2:34 PM
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    Well thank you Paul for your very kind words. Poe has always been a favorite poet of mine, I feel a kindred to his spirit. I know it was a dark moment in my life when I penned this piece, I don’t know if you have the same experience of waking up in the morning, going to your computer and reading what you penned the night before and being astonished and say to yourself, “did I write that” this was one of those moments. I hope as well that my children recognize who their father was as a poet. Peace and blessings I send to you and yours this day sir.

    Reply
  • September 21, 2018 at 8:01 PM
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    Vincent, this felt almost like a sequel to Poe’s “The Raven.” The “tap tapping” and “my chamber door” etc promoted the same atmosphere. Yes, he is a poet that inspired many of us. I enjoyed this immensely.

    Reply
  • September 22, 2018 at 6:11 AM
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    Thank you John, yes I guess I was tapping on Poe’s door:-) He definitely inspires much of my writing, I’ve enjoyed his melancholia as it rubs into my past as well.

    Reply

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