If I were a raven, I would perch in the highest limb
Of this bare oak tree, sage and mighty,
In the center of Last Rest Cemetery;
Watching the world amongst granite gravestones
Etched in all its false prophecies, continuing to crow
About coded conspiracies of Q, X and Z.
It won't be until I pick the last bits of flesh and bone
From the remnants of forsaken souls that I will lead
Thee towards the light certain mortals see and breathe.
Yes, I can guide them to the brightest morning beams
Of the January Sun, yet, I cannot be the warmth
From the winter winds they wearily seek.
For this comfort and shelter must come from within
Ourselves once we learn the value of human kindness,
Reminding us this lesson we must teach from the love
Our hearts profess to yearn; we must keep this momentum;
We must be the hope that bounds beneath our feet like the spring
Of late March flowers bursting through melting snow.
We all have the power to grow and practice the faith
We preach to both young and old. Yea, as a raven,
I would quickly pluck out such spiteful tongues
For the ill words bestowed on all daughters and sons.
For I would rather fly in a world of wordless voices
Than to listen to hate hissed from mouths beseeching freedom.
Such contempt brings a costly toll for all seasons,
Minds without reason, life without meaning.
I would rather live in an unkindness of ravens mocking humanity,
Perched on the highest limb of this shrewd oak tree
Fluttering my wings as momentum gains speed.
Than to live in a society without empathy or peace.