... and you have to love the raven; one way or another.
Poe's poem has something of a special resonance for me, for various reasons. It's a story of a man's decent into the horror of madness as he battles with his own demons and torments. which are thrown into stark relief in the form a nocturnally errant raven.
I've often thought, especially in recent years, that the raven in the poem gets kind of a raw deal in the pop-culture fallout. The raven is the trigger and manifestation of the narrator's madness but he's also the narrator's companion and guide through it. There's some things in life we never get-over and never really heal. things that even years later, if focused on too closely still have the power to overwhelm and consume you. Like the tempest in the poem, they lurk and rattle our, all to flimsy, barriers in night.

'Raf and I have a somewhat complicated and often prickly relationship, but as much of a cantankerous, preening, prima donna as he can be I wouldn't have got this far without him. For better or worse, he's stubborn, possessive, protective, and sometimes disconcertingly insightful. and I often, perhaps, don't give him the credit he deserves.

The world is dark and scary, but I like to think the poem's final line can been read as a loving, sympathetic, promise rather than a lingering threat. That there could be a happy, if not exactly mirthful, epilogue to it all.

Probably not as Poe envisioned it, but, then, neither of us are Poe. Thank fuck.