Eye Of The Raven Poem by Maharishi Deja Vu

On the winter solstice, in the hour of twilight,
a moment of time when the day and night
are mating in their bed of fire-lit clouds,
a sunset bleeds red into blue skies,
' like pools of blood flowing into my eyes,
touching the blood that makes me alive.
Streams of white vapor writing appear in the sky,
hieroglyphic subliminal messages,
turning black in the night,
paintings of the Raven.
It was then that I noticed her,
black, smooth, staring, the Raven,
a bird from deep inside my memories.
Her eyes were fixed upon me,
the studied subject of her prey,
a rippling reflection sinking fathoms
into the mirror of my soul,
linking together times and circumstances in my life,
in my mind.
In this moment I could remember,
the Raven, watching me,
in so many different occurrences throughout my life.
Waiting, the Raven, she has always been there,
guardian of a porthole in time,
an eye of the infinite peering into my mortality.
Familiar, the Raven, black, shining, naked, stalking,
waiting to touch my time,
looking into the secret thoughts of my mind.
A compelling notion of chemistry, curiosity,
lures me to look into the Raven's eye.
In the Raven's eye a dream is unfolding,
expanding like an ocean,
pouring into my eyes.
Veins of blood run through the Raven's eye,
raging like rivers over-running their sides,
a flashflood into my veins,
into the desires of my life.
I could feel the heat of her blood's ovulation;
longing, the Raven, black, naked,
exposing the secret desiring of my life.
Fading into the night black and waiting
go the images in the Raven's eye,
you have seen them too,
speaking through your blood to you,
stripping you naked,
down to your nature's waiting,
desires exposed.
In the night of the Raven,
in a moonlit room waits the bed of our mating,
it's a place you'll find in the mirror of the Raven's eye.

Maharishi Déjà Vu

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