Poe Revisited

In one evening in the darklight, light

   of midnight by the light of the lore.

Stood a figure quite a figure

    of a person as of yore.

Shadowed by the shadows

    of the crosses row by row on row.

As if to see the fog of tales

    gone by and quoted nevermore.

Beams of moonlight, howling

   ravens and silent owls and more.

Saying something’s and the nothings

   all the while nothing more.

Figures stalking, talking, talking

   in a fathom by deeper fathoms more.

Boiling cauldrons seething

   brewing by the eons gone for all.

As if to say no more, to say,

   quoth the raven “nevermore”

And if the never is a never or the never

   that is more or less than before.

And all that leaves the ravens lair,

    to make a quote and more.

Of the hidden writings of the prose

   by dead poets yet alive some more.

Who haunts the mind of those

   bereft of life yet alive, more

By their love of living but

    all askew and skewered, haunted.

So as to seek the words

   of muses by the shadows.

All the while calling, calling

   from the fog of lore.

And the holler, holler

   of the echoes of the night, and  more.

Drifting in and out of rows within

   the rows of mausoleums’ tall.

Searching, searching raven lairs,

   nothing there save ghosts be gone.

Yet hovering ravens stay the covers

   and curse the fog all the more.

By the figure, tall and all,

   quoting, quoting more and more, “:nevermore”

Answering still the raven more,

 “ quoth the raven, nevermore”