Feather upon my palm

The raven’s poignant plume possess pure power,

while she strokes so swiftly with her seductive spell

from her flights of the heart so smooth and long

to leave a trace in feathery feel upon the hand

who holds that magic she offers

so flowing like the wind.

 

It leaves the gossamer feel of a lofty layer in lilting

that helps to lift the mind like a sail

farther and farther into the tempest touch

of sky born journeys in truly turbulent teases,

which stir the brain and awaken the bird inside

until hands can flutter upon a breeze,

move so higher and higher past the day.

 

How touching is the phrase or thought

so powerful and vivid in so few words,

a dream in essence breathed as a glide

where words have their own wings

once they are placed in the mind

and caress with such intensity.

 

Might not always be a moment

full of fury like a hurricane,

yet it always summons a twister within

when the raven storm strikes the eyes.