Asked by Jennifer
the raven no plagiarism
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Answered by
GPT-5 mini
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Do you mean you want an original, non-plagiarized poem titled "The Raven," or something else (a summary or analysis of Poe's poem)? If you want an original poem, here’s a short, original piece inspired by similar mood but wholly new:
The Raven
A midnight wind leaned through the eaves,
stirring the dust of a room full of old light.
I sat with a ledger of small, stubborn losses,
counting each one as if I could keep them contained.
Then a bird came—a silhouette at the glass,
black as the gap between heartbeats—
and tapped with the patience of storms.
It had eyes like smoldering coal and a voice like a weathered bell.
It said a single small thing, over and over:
"Remember," it said, and the word frayed the edges of the air.
Each echo found an unfinished sentence in me,
pulled forth the names I had tucked into pockets.
We traded in ghosts and bargains: its wing against my conscience,
my silence against its insistence. Night thinned to a ledger line.
In the end it left as quietly as a promise unkept,
leaving a space shaped like a footprint on the floor.
I kept the silence like a coin, warm from my hand,
and in the dark the bird’s single syllable remained—
a slow ache I could not file away,
a refrain that taught me how thin the quiet is.
If you want a different tone, length, rhyme scheme, or a version in a specific style (modern, humorous, sonnet, etc.), tell me which and I’ll make one.
The Raven
A midnight wind leaned through the eaves,
stirring the dust of a room full of old light.
I sat with a ledger of small, stubborn losses,
counting each one as if I could keep them contained.
Then a bird came—a silhouette at the glass,
black as the gap between heartbeats—
and tapped with the patience of storms.
It had eyes like smoldering coal and a voice like a weathered bell.
It said a single small thing, over and over:
"Remember," it said, and the word frayed the edges of the air.
Each echo found an unfinished sentence in me,
pulled forth the names I had tucked into pockets.
We traded in ghosts and bargains: its wing against my conscience,
my silence against its insistence. Night thinned to a ledger line.
In the end it left as quietly as a promise unkept,
leaving a space shaped like a footprint on the floor.
I kept the silence like a coin, warm from my hand,
and in the dark the bird’s single syllable remained—
a slow ache I could not file away,
a refrain that taught me how thin the quiet is.
If you want a different tone, length, rhyme scheme, or a version in a specific style (modern, humorous, sonnet, etc.), tell me which and I’ll make one.
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