A Raven’s Dream

Once, to the world, but a witness, an eye,
For sheltered I kept her, out of the sky—
Bound were these wings of unsoiled silk
And hidden I kept them, frightened to fly.
Held with but dreams and touched with but wind
These wings ached to soar and savor the sky
As weightless as children that dance on the lea.

As daring a pious casts scripture to flame,
Says “to hell with this faith and to hell with His name,”
I set free this raven from safe solitude
And opened her wings to glory and shame;
As conductors draw music on air with a wand,
These feathers drew fire in eyes of the tame
As careless as children that reach for the sun
from the lea.

Lost in dreams of endless skies
As far as wing of velvet flies.
And in my dream upon the lea
I find a voice is coaxing me:
“Touch but my hand to know of bliss,
Give but your wings spread wide for me
I’ll harm you not, for what is a kiss?
Share with me here, deep in your dream…”
I reached as hungry children do
And found myself pushed to the lea—

Enduring the rhythm makes frozen the veins,
So shatters the body when all that remains
Are feathers befouled and blood turned to ice,
When smothers the weight of sticky white lies
On the back of a raven, whose wings are spread wide.
Ravaged, I posed for the sun over high
In motionless terror, frightened to fly—

Broken and soiled he left me these wings
Which carried me once to dreams in the sky.
No need now for dreams, for incarnate is fear
That wings plucked as mine can nevermore fly;
As nightmares wake children shaken to tears
Who dream that sun moves out of the sky,
And never again for the children to see
While they weightlessly dance
        without heed
                on the lea.

        Lauren L. Zavrel

A Fate Not Self-Decided
 
A slow and painful fate a flag endures
as vibrant colors hoisted to the sky
arouse the winds, as wolves to flesh are lured.
The pole-bound victim, not allowed to die,
is forced to watch its own unraveling fate,
like witches feeling flames lick at their feet.
 
And struggle’s violence mounts as more the sting
of lashes dealt to tear the woven seams.
Strengthened are the grips of hands restraining,
much as coils of the snake squeeze tight
around the rodents not so quick to die,
or as deeper sets the hook in fish that fight.
 
        (The victim, full of pleas it dares not cry
        recalls the flag, who limp, has less to endure,
        lays still and waits beneath the fate it’s dealt,
        like whores that feel the dollars on their legs.
        For should its hope be not so quick to die,
        the serpent’s coils on its neck should tighten,
        and thrilled he’d be to sport with such a creature
        that fights, as fish that pull his hook yet deeper.
        Not so unlike the tortured prey of cats
        whose limbs are torn away before they’re eaten.)
 
As cats are known to taunt and torture prey,
men pride not the flags that limply hang,
but are pleased to witness rationings of pain
the wind inflicts upon its tethered slave
and thrilled to see the victim writhe in vain,
as killer whales, who mangle baby seals.
 
A fate not self-decided bears the flag,
to represent wherever it is placed,
belonging to whatever land may bear it.
Not unlike some women’s fate to bear
seized and bound by hands of hungry men
from which (she) may attempt to writhe away…
 
            Lauren L. Zavrel