The wilted branch of the willow tree
Drooped, touching her headstone with its tender fingers,
The browning grasses and the primroses stood like
A thousand soldiers, ever watchful and protective of her realm,
They were her friends and her only companions
The muffled silence and the mournful wails of the wind
Were the only voice she’s ever heard
And she loved listening to them too
The flapping wings of the raven,
Ruffling the slumbering atmosphere,
Announced his presence as he gave raucous caw;
A greeting no one else understood but her
And she would respond with a well meaning silence
She seemed to give a knowing smile
As the raven perched on her headstone,
Stirring the still flowers with a gentle draft of wind
From his ominously dark and ethereal wings.
He is her friend too;
Her only living friend in flesh
Yet, like her, he is unwelcome in the land of the living where he dwells
News from the land beyond, he always bring
And she would listened so aptly
That even her quietness rivals that of the gloomy silence
Today, he brought her a joyous tale;
Of the carnage behind the mortal veil
And from it, she knew it’s already begun;
The mutiny of the dead.
She knew what must be done
Soon, others like her would seek refuge
In the voluminous bowels of the caring mother, earth
And she would welcome them with a regal smile of a queen, which she is.
She would show them love and
give them the unrestrained attention denied them by the living,
She would listen to their troubles and calm them
With soothing tales of hers
She would tell the tale of the beautiful moonlight,
Whose pale and innocent looks calms the mind of the troubled
And she would tell that of the sun,
Whose radiance warms the earth,
Beneath which they lay
Then she would conclude it
With a tale of her own;
Of how she was stabbed by a lover’s hand
On the night of her marriage to her betrothed.
And she would round it up with the declaration
Of her passionate and hateful devotion
To the end of humanity
