Author's Note: wrote this a long time ago in 8th grade. It was for a symbolism themed essay. I got B- on it and bumbed my grade in the class from an F to a F+... I guess this wasn't a big finals Essay!
Forever attuned. Forever on course. Forever on the same loop of which no one will appreciate. A distant crow of symbols and tales of which to tell and present, but this crow is one not amused with the torture of which he has to learn. He soars towards the graves, of which the dead lie, and the men give waste of their sorrow. This crow comes not to share his meanings, but to relieve them from his mind, to find peace and inspiration to tune instead of one in a constant loop of annoyance.
He carries his claws to the statues of which he calls the damned. The women who lived and died in awful styles. He comes to take one's caring hand and closes his eyes. The crow clears his mind, no pictures, no thoughts, only an empty darkness of he endures. One speaks behind him,"You comes in spite of obsession of death?"
The crow lunges in the air and hovers, "Who speaks?" he screeches. "I do not favor those of tricks."
"I am not one with tricks, but one with embrace." The statue he sat upon speaks, but her lips does not move. The crow lingers in the air as he contemplates who he talks to.
"Embrace?" The crow spoke aloud. "What embraces of which you speak?" He flutters still in the air as the statue's stone hands clutch ever so softly.
"Give her take. The embrace of which anyone longs for is the one I speak of." The crow is mesmerised as he watches the statue speak without a single jolt of her lips.
"Can you speak you name?" The crow wonders.
"I can, that is if you want you soul to be mine."
"My soul is my own, so leave you deal as it was." The crow gently settles on her clenched fist as another voice sobs in the corner of ear.
"You speak you mouth as if it was something to show for!" the feminine voice began to whimper. "We do not need to heed your constant stories and your bragged legends!"
The crow turned towards the seductive sobbing voice and saw a statue with plastered tears on her face, a robe covers her eyes, but her cheeks show as her arms and hands reach for her eyes under the robs.
"And who might you be?" the crow asked.
"What does my name matter? The simple mortal will shrug in disgust if they were to hear it." The statue's hands began to clench as well as she spoke her sorrow.
"Do not feel ashamed of your features and your gifts. They are your armor of which would protect you from the wars of life."
"You do not understand, we are not ones of this world."
The crow settles once more utop her kneeling leg and looks under her robe to see her face. A voice, again, interrupts him, but this time, the voice was not delicate, a voice of power and spite rushes to be heard.
"Shut you god forsaken mouth. Your constant whining annoys us as we stand still in this field of sorrow and respect."
The crow stares silently towards the statue to find a woman with a spear held in one hand and severed head of a roman man in the other. "You seem familiar, to me..." the crow spoke silently.
"I am but a forgotten goddess of time and war. My death is my shackles of my belief." the statue spoke, but still her lips stayed, unmoveable and still in it's place.
"I do not mean to intrude, but who are you figures? Is this but my imagination? I have never encountered such a strange moment such as this. Even in a graveyard such as this."
The statues shutter a laugh as the crow stays on the knee of the sobbing statue. "What is so laughably funny?"
"You are a crow!" the strong voice began to overpower the atmosphere. "You should have met us before hand?" The sobbing voice began to speak.
"We have met so many crows pass by with so much to empty, so much to relieve from their mind and soul. You should have know us from the beginning!" The crow becomes annoyed.
"I have no time for this, I must leave!"
"But your soul must relieve its stress, my dear," the soft voice cleanses the crow's anger. "You must submit to our cleansing touch." He does what the soothing voice said to him and closes his bright yellow eyes, clearing his soul of it's rambling and relaxes himself. "Your obsession of death..." her soothing voice was no longer peaceful, but loud and frightening. The crow, startled, jumps and in the air and has his mind flooded with thoughts.
"Why are you figures so startling. And what do you mean my obsession of death?"
"Oh, but do not fear, your obsession with it is but a love song in my ears."
"I carry no obsession of such a thing, nor shall I keep one such as that." the crow's words began to shutter one's of lies.
"You do not see, but your blindness of which is common of those who deny the truth." The crow speaks with anger.
"Blindness? I carry no blindness of anything, I see all and believe all. No one has endured what I had," the eyes of the crow stare downwards, in show of his realisation of the truth.
"Edgar, you need not panic of your past," the crow's eyes widen as his name was called.
"How do you know my name, madam?" He turns as looks towards the other statues and finds they are not there. The spear wielding, forgotten goddess is not there to show her forgotten glory and the sobbing statue with the robes of the damned, and plastered tears of sorrow was there to let her feelings go to those who would help. "Where are the others? I demand answers!"
"Oh, your mind is full of questions," he lips morphed a skeleton grin. "You were chosen by me, Edger. And those who I choose are those I know."
"Who are you?" the crow asked. Her statue began to crumble with age and vegetation.
"I am once was the single most embraced being as times ends for one's life." Her voice before was soothing, but there was the voice of devastation that sank in his mind. "I have met hardly any with this rare obsession, Edgar. But you are the most gifted of those I met." The crow is silent as the statue forms a shadowed robe covering herself as a scythe begins to form around her hands as her skeleton grin is all you see in the light that shines upon her. "Your writing is but a conjuring of one's creativity. Yet, you still wrote about me as I was of knew quality."
"Are you talking about my failed writings? I rather not speak of it. I had inspiration, but it was the fact I've seen you in my head so many times. I feared you, but came to love you."
"Yet, you do not want to embrace me?" her voice settles into a peaceful state. "Why do you come to see death and sorrow in this gravefield, but not come and embrace your own death and sorrow?"
The crow's eyes began to linger to the ground as the lady's voice became heavy on his mind. "I do not want my stories, my poetry, my life to be forgotten. As long as I stay in this form and life style, I know my life's work will stay eternal."
Her voice starts to lift her wait as she begins to feel sorrow for the poor soul. "Eternal is what you want, but eternal needs always become an illusion." Her voice became a void. "You do not want to become an illusion do you?" The crow's thoughts were nothing, but what she spoke of. "Do not worry, Edgar. Take me hand and embrace the light." A light began to shine inside of her as her hand was freely presented in front of him. "Be engraved in history and be loved by loved by those who know your life." The grow hovers over her hand and lands gently on her as a free feeling fills the crow. "I will place you on this pedestal and your image will never be forgotten, forever attuned, forever on course, forever loved and inspired." As he was placed on the pedestal of pure marble and glorious white color, he forms to stone and embraces his own inspiration, as his name becomes engraved on the stone in the gravefield, Edgar Allan Poe.