Raven’s Wings
By: Lillian Sorrell

The wings of the raven shine in the sun
I see trees all around
I see a little babbling brook sparkling in the sun’s rays
I see a patch of flowers, dainty as a fairy

The wings of  the raven shine in the sun
I hear them defying gravity with every gust of air
I hear all of her feathers dusting the colors in the sky
I hear the spray of a waterfall close by, the noise calming

The raven streaks up, painting sky’s canvas
I smell the distinctly wet dirt
I smell the wind carrying a faint fragrance of wildflowers
I smell the air, so fresh I feel it cleansing me

The raven streaks up, painting the sky’s canvas
I touch the sky’s tears that collect in the moss on the forest floor
It feels thick with humidity surrounding everything, all creatures heavily breathing
It feels empowering running through meadows that feel like cushions

He wanted to tell her how much he loved her but he couldn’t. She wouldn’t understand after all they were in prison because of him…
...“Everyone up it’s time for you to pick up pieces of trash you pieces of trash!” Shouted Marcus Renold, one of the prison guards.

“Ok Marcus that’s enough!” scolded Christie Bennett, another prison guard. “Why are you always so mean to them?”

“Whatever Christie, they’re in here for a reason, I’m basically helping them by being hard on them because...because it teaches them to obey the law.”

“Sure it does Marcus.” Christie said trying to be as sarcastic as possible. “Come on guys get up!” she banged on the cell a little. Carl woke up and kicked the top bunk to wake up Lester.

“Lester get up.” Carl kicked the bunk some more until he kicked it so hard that Lester rolled off the bunk onto the floor.

The man sat there, on the same old, rickety, wooden stool. His guitar was laying across his aged looking, ripped jeans. The smoke of his cigarette spiraled off into the air. You couldn’t see much of his face with the mix of his curly hair and his blue and red baseball cap covering it. He watched his own fingers dance up and down the strings, letting the soft and sweet sound escape from the instrument.

I walked over to the open case that he placed by the legs of the stool. I slowly strolled over, still listening to the charming melody. I bent down and set a 5 dollar bill in. His focus broke, he looked up at me. His face was revealed. He had dark, brown eyes, they almost seemed black. Our eyes were locked but only for a moment, then he spoke, my eyes fell toward my feet.

“You’re a different soul, aren’t you?” he said removing the cancer stick from his mouth. His voice was deep, raspy, curious. A wondering look took over his face.

 

Once I folded an origami rose,
Layers of curled petals spiralling,
Gently leaning back in the sun,
Wrapping in close to itself.

Imagine if I could stretch my arms and reach,
miles and miles
grasping
the North Pole with one hand,
the South Pole with the other.
Folding the northern tip of Canada down to the equator.

People would dance, arms curled around each other,
The world would gently lean back towards the sun,
The world would wrap people in close to itself.
If only I knew how.

The instructions are not folded away in a drawer,
Hidden among layers of paper.
Leaning back into my imagination’s sunfire,
I must find my own way,
Wrapping my hands close around the idea,
that will let me fold the world.