Watcher of the Veil
A shadow carved from midnight’s breath,
The raven keeps its tryst with death.
Above, the mountains hum and sleep,
Beneath, the clouds in silence creep.
What secrets linger in its gaze?
What whispers drift through fog-laced haze?
Does it guard the path to worlds unseen,
Between the now and what has been?
A sentinel of dusk and dawn,
It waits where time itself has gone.
No tether holds, no voice commands,
It perches on forgotten lands.
The wind may call, the earth may groan,
But some roads must be walked alone.
And here it stays, where wonder’s born,
Between the mist, the night, the morn.
The raven knows, though it won’t tell,
Of dreams and realms where shadows dwell.
It waits, it watches, silent still,
The keeper of the mountain’s will.
This is the photo that inspired Watcher of the Veil. Seeing the raven perched there, surrounded by the clouds and mountains of Hurricane Ridge, felt like stumbling onto something timeless. The way it looked out over the misty expanse wasn’t just passive—it felt like it was quietly guarding the boundary between what we understand and what lies beyond.
I was completely alone on the Ridge that early morning, and the whole moment had this quiet, mysterious energy that I couldn’t shake. That feeling stayed with me, and over time, it turned into the poem. The raven became a sort of watchful guardian, holding secrets it would never reveal.
