His family never knew.
That night, five years ago,
insomnia muddled mind,
he walked along the path,
curly black hair shining
iridescent in the silver moon.
Tangled tree legs pulled up roots,
parted slowly, limbs askew,
pointed sharply at the pond
never seen before.
Black water shimmered glossy,
pulled him closer, closer still.
Something winged, unseen,
flapped loudly, beat its wings
pulled him forward, forward more
toward the black pond, now a hole
pulled him forward, falling now
spinning vortex claimed his soul.
They searched for weeks,
never looking up.
Saw the new boy,
curly black hair,
on the prowl,
slingshot always in hand.
Never saw the raven,
flying round the steeple
iridescent, black,
beneath the silver moon
seeking divine intervention
to reclaim its human form.
Photo Credit: dimitri c
lillian the home poet 
This reminds me of the Crow movies. What a tale it tells. No more moonlit walks for me! So he became the raven and the raven took his place? Or did I get the story backwards? It’s very intriguing either way.
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I’ve never heard of the Crow movies? Will have to google that! Glad you liked it! 🙂
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🙂
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Ooo, Lillian – I like this one very much…
Spirit passing on – acceptance into other forms – death and rebirth – a black phoenix
am:)
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Love your response here! Smiling I am 🙂
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🙂
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Full emotional attention is engaged with this one. Thank you.
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It was an interesting one to write!
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