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Poe-etchings Of Grief

Updated on October 19, 2009

Poe-etchings of grief.


He was a pencil of a man,
rail thin, used often, bent and chewed,
by critics who would often pan,
his brilliant works, folks misconstrued.

He was a brief sketch etched in blood,
he outlined mankind's darker side,
then went to join the morgue he rued,
his "Telltale Heart" made death his bride.

He walks the streets of Baltimore,
haunting the place where his bones mesh,
and every year upon his grave,
a rose is laid, bright red and fresh.

Wild shock of hair, and petulant lips,
below a mustache neatly trimmed,
with magic in his fingertips,
he penned the devil's favorite hymns.

I'd like to toss back potent rums,
in any pub with Mr. Poe,
and whisper tales of ghostly chums,
that drive us to fermented woes.

Some night I'll sit upon his grave,
and beg him come, collaborate,
spin one more tale of gruesome gore,
perhaps that's how I'll meet my fate.

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    • Ralph Deeds profile image

      Ralph Deeds 8 years ago from Birmingham, Michigan

      Ever since high school English class Poe has been one of my favorites. "Anabel Lee" is one of his most beautiful poems. He's a great one. But not as prolific as MFB III, I dare say.