Poem : Poe

As the day falls into the night
The night’s shadows dance with excitement
For darkness has finally come
Poe, Mr. Edgar Allan, now sits by candlelight
Watching it flicker and reflect on his pale gray skin
While the raven sits silently waiting outside
Poe looks upon his desk of writing
Knowing his inkwell is far from dry
He knows he has to continue his work
With quill in hand he frantically scratches his paper
With words
With meaning
With thoughts of darkness that seem to be drowning his life
For he swears he still hears his Virginia’s soft whisper
But he knows she can only be speaking from the grave
So he pours another warm shot of brown whiskey
To quiet her soft screams in the night
Exhausted from working on writing for hours
Poe’s frail hand slows to a slight scribble
His heart feels like it’s pumping with the slowest of beats
His blood feels thick and barely flowing
Like black-tar-syrup bleeding from trees in the winter
But he keeps writing and pushing himself to finish
For hearing Virginia’s sweet whispers is too much to bear
“Soon you will join me my sweet Edgar Allen
For death is steadily gaining on you now
We will be together once more, here in the great ever-after”
Now frantic like one of his characters
Poe pushes to get the last sentence written
The last thought out of his mind
Pulling nightmares from the dreams of the living and the voices of the dead
While the raven sits dust covered and silently waiting
Waiting to carry Poe’s spirit into the dark depths of nothing
Where Virginia stands in the shadows and cries in the night