The New Nevermore by Donna M. Monnig (NaPoWriMo)

The New Nevermore

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
It came from out the dark and dreary night beyond my door. 
It came, it came from out of nowhere, from whence I know not,
it flew out of shadow into my castle shallow, and scared me to my core. 
Staring at it’s beady eyes, black as tempest and beguiling, I was caught,

frozen, frozen, and unmoving I could not break away from the sight I bore. 
Captured by it’s gaze so startling, there was no sign of parting, no way to ignore. 
Color drained from my parlor, from my face, my neck to collar, as though shot.
I knew not what had happened, when that Raven came a rapping, with a soar. 
Out of the night so dreary, through the mist, a bit leery, know not what’s in store. 
The Raven, he spoke, yes, he spoke, sounded like a hollow croak, yes, it ought,

it ought to be so easy, bird language, light and breezy, but what it said I am not sure. 
The language of Ravens, it is fickle, sounds written like a sickle, sounds like nevermore. 
Oh, what could it mean, is this bird a thing or fiend, how will I know if or not?
Why would he fly so far and high to seek me out upon the river’s shore? 
What good am I? I wish to cry! And ask my questions, let him not ignore. 
But staring at his beak, I hardly speak, in uncertainty I am frozen, caught. 

The bird, he stares, almost unawares of the silence descended upon the floor,
Or perhaps that is the game, maybe even why he came and flounced from the shore. 
If it be death he’s selling, the grim reaper will hear me yelling, his elixir unbought. 
I will not be beguiled from like some bird-fearing child, no matter what may lay in store.
Ghastly grim and ancient creature, in my night, shall not feature, out comes the birdshot. 

I will not stand to be frightened, oh my senses, oh so heightened, I cannot ignore. 
That which is or maybe isn’t, why couldn’t it be a pheasant? That come through my door. 
As from it’s gaze I pull away and stumble back into my castle, oh it’s such a terrible hassle, 
but I cannot be made to such behavior allow uncaged, and so the Raven shall not linger,
as I rest the trigger, my finger, and the barrel of the gun, aimed to make that Raven run,
but in a flash of midnight feathers, I am pulled from the levers, as a shadow hovers 
where there was none before …
 
In this moment of demise, is when I realize that the Raven was to come before,
he was but the messenger, not the harbinger, for what was to come from the shore,
No, the Raven is not the fiend, something worse than I could’ve dreamed,
is what came in shadow through my door. 
The Raven, he was the warning, if only he’d come in morning, but I did ignore. 
Now the shadow slowly creeps, into the castle deep, and I am the new Nevermore. 

©2024 Donna M. Monnig
4-24-2024

NaPoWriMo Day 24 Challenge: “write a poem that begins with a line from another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it.”