Raven Dancer

They call you dark, a phantom,
a hungry ghost laughing at war,
reveling in the gory deaths of thousands.
You show me another face, O raven dancer,
O poet of vision. Your strong hands
do the work of living too,
your dance of death a doorway
that the grave claim only the flesh.
You hold our spirits like spears
sharpened by the words of a poet.

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