Drifting away again on a blank
White sheet. Caught in a tank,
If only the eyes were asleep;
In the blissful, sound deep.
Tried to satisfy a love
That proved only a dream.
The Raven is a Dove
Travelling free and serene.
Only to be shot out of
The cerulean sky above.
Perceive it`s piercing cry,
As it falls down to die.
Less is now left.
The wings are cleft.
The deep blue ocean, bereft;
The mortal blow was deft.
Hopes are no longer seen,
Fresh is now soiled unclean,
Shimmer hast lost its glean,
Nice has become mean,
Attractive loos repulsive,
Rational is impulsive,
Perplexing is instructive,
Creative breeds destructive.
I take one white feather,
And it to my soul I will tether.
Composed By: Andrew Drucker