Building A Raven

First you venture to where even the crows

don't know about,

the snow-capped height in the unforgiving light,

with the merciless dawn daring you to make

anything be born. 

Wizards stirred history in the rage dark caves

beneath this hill fifteen centuries ago,

dragons concocted by mad Celtic alchemists

to dispell the invaders. 

Tap the rock until the right one answers,

listen for the voice of flint, talons on slate,

an answering echo mixing hate and power.

Only this hour can crack the stone,

release the night soul that waited a granite eternity.

It breaks free to grey light willing it gone already,

breathing solemn thunder, staring at you remorselessly,

but revelling in something more than birth.

You are the midwife of an ancient thing, 

first born bird from a world that trembled 

beneath the primal world tree.

Odin cloaked assassin of all men's hopes,

watching once more for its carrion moment.