Borne on stormwinds of winter’s night,
It clawed through frost with whispered dread.
Cast out from realms where hope takes flight,
It haunted dreams where sanity fled.

Each night the raven came to speak,
Its voice a dirge with wisdom bleak.
It perched upon his chamber sill
And whispered futures dark and still.

“Tomorrow brings a letter sealed,
Where grief and ruin are revealed.”
And true, at dawn, the missive came—
A debt, disgrace, a tarnished name.

“Next week,” it croaked, “a stranger’s gaze
Shall stalk thee through the market’s maze.”
He saw her there, with ghost-white eyes,
She mouthed his sins, recast his lies.

Each prophecy the bird foretold
Came crawling forth, merciless, cold.
He begged to know when it would cease—
The raven promised no release.

“One month,” it rasped, “your thoughts shall fray,
As sanity slowly bleeds away.”
He felt the worming fractures spread,
The whispers feasting in his head.

Night after night, the bird returned,
Its gaze grew fierce, its purpose burned.
It carried twigs of midnight pain
To nest within his fevered brain.

At last, the raven crept near his ear,
And breathed the final truth to hear:
“Thy end is nigh—all hope amiss,
For you are I, in midnight’s abyss.”

He gasped as feathers cloaked his skin,
The secrets sealed his fate within.
Now nightly, from windowsills he cries
The futures that all souls deny.