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We meet where ravens fly
listening to their stories of Old Ones
(they are the last).
Feathered gods who walked like men,
their wings become swords,
their beaks black suns.
We can't resist
when they call us to worlds
of songships sailing diamond seas
to golden shores
to meet gods of other lands
filled with creatures
so different from us
that only Raven knows their name.
(they look at us and laugh.
"So awkward," they say.
"Those things of flesh and bone.
No spirit there. How can they know?")
We meet where ravens fly
carrying us to secret places
of kingdoms we've forgotten,
not understanding the eternity of men
is a whisper in the wind.