Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Where do the dead fly? Are they sorted like fish from crabs and condemned to a heaven or hell? Or are they left to rot with their corpses on this cold earth, overlaid the oceans of snow rippling in the salty gusts of sea air, covering the warm dunes of summer sand. You would not allow yourself either. For no doubt your soul is as restless as your mind, ever working, ever fighting for power just out of reach, slipping through your ghostly claws. Darkness there and nothing more. But no. I do not see your tattered form, in the light of day. Your feathers still dirtied and soiled with determination, turquoise eyes as angry as when we first met on a sunny autumn day exchanging quips as easily as breaths, before an oath was struck, before you left me alone to complete it. In the dark, is where you must hide, always it is there I find you, glaring, daring me to forget your blood runs through my veins. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Yet, our goal is in reach, the scaffolds of our gilded throne assembled. My fear pushed aside /The Winged/ ready to rise free of cages, free of tethers, released into the open azure sky. I can only hope for your pride, as I stand alone, still searching for your words, a spire in the night, counting stars and praying they may spell out our fates, yours sealed, mine soon to follow. Then the bird said “Nevermore.” Or is all my work for none, will I join you in the dark, unheard and unseen without having ever worn our crown. The stars won't tell me that, and I must know I will succeed. I must know I can do it without you. Without you. Forever more. Goodbye. My Wren.
