(THE RAVENS TALE) DEDICATED TO RAVEN
THE SOUND AS HER IMAGE IS BROUGHT TO LIFE...
https://youtu.be/hOjP7wBs-iI
She born of the black.
Misunderstood and shunned for the black made her different, such a delicate butterfly caught in the winds of winter.
Her nappy halo a testament to her living strong in the face of such insurmountable odds.
Men drawn to her form for it divine caused many heads to turn.
All she wanted was to learn.
She the conundrum walked head held high, grace her constant companion, pose her place in the most savage of storms.
Such a fragile thing, lace and silk, the finest of threads.
Black satin shining as the sharpest blade.
Her allusions becoming metaphors and illusions dazzling in their display.
The cradle of God contained in her hips, she born queen in the hallowed halls of her cranium
Milk of life falling as her spring rains as heads upturned let it fall upon their tongues.
Nourishment for a new millennium, one B'ak'tun and it all begins again.
Saviors, prophets, kings and queens, houses falling and rising.
Hue-man kind born again as the planet cyclical cruises through time and space.
Her darkness the predecessor of light, potential floating in her womb.
Men approaching her would be wise to know these things for she born of the black has the ability to unleash knowledge.
She is these things.
Her story these marks, lines and dashes.
Black hieroglyphics born of her flesh that will be read and translated in future times.
Food for a starving mind.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY
