Last night I read The Raven to my love.
He asked me, So, my dear, what does it mean?
I said, I think that there’s a message of
How he will never meet his wife again,
Not even when he dies, in afterlife.
Instantly, his handsome face went hot,
The poem stabbing him, sharp like a knife,
All at once. Or maybe it was not
The poem which had caused his sudden strife,
Had made him feel the horror of that thought.
He needed only to be in our bed,
And feel my warmth, and hear a poem read
By me. And therein lay the twisting dread
Of terrifying truths best left unsaid.
Gabriella Writes 