The Raven's Confession

The park seemed strangely vacant and there was a fog that blurred my view of frost-tipped leaves jutting out from their trees in every direction. Suddenly the silence of my morning walk was shattered.

"This calm," said a voice, "is a prelude to the storm."

I turned toward the direction of the voice and for an instant, the fog cleared and I saw a raven perched on a streetlight staring right at me, speaking very articulately.

"Wall to wallowing wall of your mummified city streets are overrun with shadows wearing designer dreams," stated the bird very matter-of-factly.

Awe-struck, I scrambled together "Wh-what do you mean?"

The raven replied promptly. "Bleeding the colors together in a visual smear of firework epiphany, an ivory snowstorm shatters false virtues.

"Ovation vertigo chokes from your lungs the anorexic lullaby of hopelessness."

Though my mouth was gaping, words escaped me.

The dark prophet continued. "Take this hint of the ice cave, a blind parable in a glass-enclosed cage: torture swells the diagnostic storm unclean."

A form of reality dawned on me, and I said, "Wait… Birds don't talk."

The raven retorted, "Humans never listen."