Said the Devil with dread while the angel
simply read of Poe’s complete mastery of
the dead while imprisoned in one body
that of a man.
Edgar Allen Poe is dead in Baltimore
so they said with a sad announcement
on a dreary Sunday morning one
October 7th chilly day of mourning
this great Poet.
So few they say grieved over his
passing though startled not many left
their posts to take a notice only the
lonely Raven cawed for this Poet
lost by many.
Friends he had few and regrets even
fewer for this star that dimmed and
lost its full sparkle so erratically by
fathers and brothers without his
kind of reputation.
Poe was at times almost immortal his
eloquence so fluid and modulated with
unparalleled skill and almost Raven black
eyes that darted and shot fiery into the
desperate eyes of onlookers who
watched with vigor as his face glowed
yet changeless in pallor.
His imagination as sharp as a razor’s
edge would cut to the core and blood
would flow in gushes of lines penned
and released frozen from his heart.
With imagery he drew from worlds
where no mortals could see into,
Poe had the vision of a genius let
mad to explore on earth while
his soul opened up the pit’s of hell.
His words were such of the gloomiest
and ghastliest kind and rejected all
forms of customary grandeur. Like a
chained wolf he ravaged all forms
of form and burst on the scene with
a sharply defined simplicity and
clearness set in mind.
Such wonderful creations he did
bestow upon the world most airy and
delicate was this sharp minded man
who left us spellbound and brought
his readers to their knees weeping
like lost children but wanting so
much more of this Poet and his passion.
A dreamer foremost was Edgar Allen Poe
who thrived and floated between Heaven
and Hell mystifying the logic with the
creatures that flashed from his brain
whilst walking the streets on the edge
of madness or melancholy he set the
stage for so many others to follow
with depressed souls.
His posture was usually moving
awkwardly with lips moving in frightful
quivering curses or prayers and eyes
upturned cursing the devil and all that
he damned with forsaken idolatry while
his heart was being gnawed from
invitation by the demons he
Braving the wildest stormy nights
he would walk drenched in his garments
of dread beating the winds and rain
while the portals of Hell opened
inviting him in yet rejection he did
afraid for those he would never
again see him walk the doom of
death that lay at his door in the
House of Usher for evermore.
Poe like many of us Poets a single glass
of wine reversed our very nature and
we scribed with souls on fire intoxicated
with visible forces unknown we were
drawn to the edge some may call insanity
and insulting arrogance or gifted
genius what shall it be.
Vanity and depravity of ones love torn
from the open chest of a possessed
possibly demonized heart it changes ones
character and good or evil comes out in
a flurry of words so composed and laden
with blackest intoxication of truth and right.
The lamp was a light of poetry with a far
reaching beam that brought on a wave
of delightful pieces from a quill of a genius
at work darkened they may be through
the passage of time yet never forgotten
the honors and devotion Edgar Allen Poe
left us this legacy of love for his craft with
such human passion and bitter
affliction and recognition.
Let’s lift our glass to the scribe, the genius,
the misunderstood the master, let’s us speak
well of him forever until no end. In remembrance
of Poe, I walk by his grave with deep respect. RIP my poet.
© Copyright Vincent Moore 2012. All Rights Reserved