The Raven

---foreword---
I'm recently coming to terms with a philosophical concept I'm very excited about exploring. Having read Althusser (Ideologies and State Apparatuses), Said (Orientalism) and Zizek in particular I am fascinated by the ultimate futility of existence, and how elaborate the advancement of humanity has made it appear to be. We are at a stage now, as humanity, where we ask for the meaning of life, but actually have too MUCH information to provide an answer. I'd refer to needle-and-haystack in a very different way, but I'm leaving analogies with the poem.

The answer lies not with us, but out there. In the wilderness. That's what this poem is about. This has little or anything to do with Edgar Allen Poe, sorry to disappoint! :)
-------------------

The Raven owns the fence on which he perches
Silent, suspicious
Knowing of his own faculty, implicit in his dare
Who will pass my threshold? Asks he
Basking in the benign and timeless freeze
Millions of years in progress
At work
Who will come to pass?

An unwritten, ancient contract
Lies sub-knowingly in those awoken, sable eyes
Shimmering in elementary pride
Covetous.
That chain as old as time
To exist, to experience, to expire
Roots his feet to the man-made fence
A product of our insecurity
A weak, endeavoured link.

The knowledge The Raven may keep
Is different to yours
Is different to mine
He knows his place
We know not ours:

Human lives are chopped up
Sliced and dined apart
Between research, compendiums
Artefacts, monopolies, totopolies
Trajectories and targets
To get a feel, a caress
A touch at least of what's out there
We have intelligence, oh yes
But we do not have the Knowledge;
The Raven blinks in earnest.

The Raven quietly trots to the other post
Comfortable, aware
Nothing beyond
Nothing preceding
He is, he shall be, he was
And he is ever aware
Of his timeslot in the Big Diary.

His mind clears its throat
And asks again.
Who will come to pass?
He does not know.
He will not know.
And yet
He exists
And always will.