Edgar Allan Poe

From up in shadows once behaved
Where solumn men, once were graved,
The Hilltops, mountains, men have braved,
For Edgar Allan Poe.

The hightened sense awareness,
Told me of a bearness,
A certain sudden glareness,
men weren't meant to know.

To see the sudden gleam,
Of the tattered and torn seam,
From the broken smiles beam,
But for Edgar Allan Poe.

For Edgar Allan Poe.
The dabbled scribble words,
Of Hearts and bloodied herds,
From the sudden death of birds,
That I wasn't sure to know.

But to see the endless snear,
From the piles of upward beer,
To the hearts of many deer,
But from Edgar Allan Poe.

To Edgar Allan Poe,
Where minds were full of snow,
From senseless marks of row,
But to see the poor old Poe,
Sitting wierd in stow,
Where the faintness of a glow,
Was certainly to grow,
But for Edgar Allan Poe,
None could really know.

So the mindless dabbled markings,
Of death and dead dogs' barkings,
To decayed bodies starkings,
For Edgar Allan Poe.

To see the insane rabble,
Of a terrored silent babble,
Where men would kneel and grabble,
To Edgar Allan Poe.

But for Edgar Allan Poe.

Of The poor old Edgar Poe.
And from the shining making,
Of poor old Poe's steaking,
And his wife's bewildered breaking,
For Edgar Allan Poe.

To see the silent lighting,
And shadows seem inviting,
Where the vulger death's exciting.
But for Edgar Allan Poe,
Where life has ceased to grow,
And his hearts pump stopped the mow,

And finally in the brow,
Of a disgruntled zombies "how?"
There seemed no outward bound,
So from Edgar Allan Poe,
With one sure way to go,

I went....

....For Edgar, Allan, Poe.