John
Charles
Mannone
Charles
Mannone
Raven - Black Dreams
It glides through raven black of space,
stars as anguished little eyes, crying.
Closer, it comes to my world, shrouded dark
but for the full cold moon drifting through
shreds of clouds. A pin oak’s silhouette
scratches that blue-misted moon.
Fog ebbs the gnarled tree
charcoaled against the lit haze. Wind swishes leaves,
they fall, rasping ground. A branch quivers.
Dimension of night folds, creases time.
The new shadow quakes, edges limb, launches
its raven form to the stone ledge of my window.
Thump, thump, thumping
at the window pane
I see myself in mirror black vitrea of its eye,
feel the final glitters of my life freeze in timeless
void.
Thump, thump, thumping
at ampoule glass
Traps the sunlight of the dawn,
ravenous fear pecking at my eyes. Its mind,
a malevolence leaking from dimensions
congealed from nightmares mixed with terror
of ancient devils escaped from burning
by sun, by silver — the singeing of their hell.
Thump, thump, thumping
at my windowsill
It transforms. Feathers splay their raven black,
then flick to scales, dark dragon green. Bones
like thorns extrude above its plated shoulders.
Wingtips grow to needled probes, serrated.
Feet to talons, scissoring. Leathered trunk.
Oil slick head expands, squashing to the side,
skin slipping away to growing bulge of red flesh,
shimmering death. Demon’s eyes hollow as black
abyss. Its beak shells off,
shows rows of double-edged incisors—
It will paralyze your mind; feed on your insanity.
It will eat your prayers; slice your soul.
It will feast on fear; leave your carcass for the birds.
Thump, thump, thumping
onyx heart.
It glides through raven black of space,
stars as anguished little eyes, crying.
Closer, it comes to my world, shrouded dark
but for the full cold moon drifting through
shreds of clouds. A pin oak’s silhouette
scratches that blue-misted moon.
Fog ebbs the gnarled tree
charcoaled against the lit haze. Wind swishes leaves,
they fall, rasping ground. A branch quivers.
Dimension of night folds, creases time.
The new shadow quakes, edges limb, launches
its raven form to the stone ledge of my window.
Thump, thump, thumping
at the window pane
I see myself in mirror black vitrea of its eye,
feel the final glitters of my life freeze in timeless
void.
Thump, thump, thumping
at ampoule glass
Traps the sunlight of the dawn,
ravenous fear pecking at my eyes. Its mind,
a malevolence leaking from dimensions
congealed from nightmares mixed with terror
of ancient devils escaped from burning
by sun, by silver — the singeing of their hell.
Thump, thump, thumping
at my windowsill
It transforms. Feathers splay their raven black,
then flick to scales, dark dragon green. Bones
like thorns extrude above its plated shoulders.
Wingtips grow to needled probes, serrated.
Feet to talons, scissoring. Leathered trunk.
Oil slick head expands, squashing to the side,
skin slipping away to growing bulge of red flesh,
shimmering death. Demon’s eyes hollow as black
abyss. Its beak shells off,
shows rows of double-edged incisors—
It will paralyze your mind; feed on your insanity.
It will eat your prayers; slice your soul.
It will feast on fear; leave your carcass for the birds.
Thump, thump, thumping
onyx heart.
I'm every nightmare you've ever had.
—It, 1990
—It, 1990