As a poet once upon a time was speaking
For a Raven in the night young woman now went seeking.
“I am sorry Master, for me stealing your words”, she said
“I am only locked up in verses, I see only Ravens, I am almost dead”.
A Raven seemed to have always been here
Just as she had already smelled, just as nothing else was clear.
And as the midnight moment was approaching
An inside force her broken heart started coaching.
Raven never came that night, but she did not consider it weird
Raven never came again, since she already no more feared.
A view in the night sky was only enough to hear
Dead moonlight and a shadow were only enough for her ear.
She knew a Raven for a poet is only fiction
She said “I would rather stick to my own addiction”.
A Raven knows to say only Nevermore
She said I can’t stay by this window, I need to go out through the door.
She hated the Raven never, and she will not
But a Raven was in her story a necessary plot.
The Raven of hers was in another form already
The Raven of hers was her prison each day, each moment steady.