Edger All Poe

Our dark founding father, of American literature, A sinister beacon of darkness, lighting the way Into the darkened abyss of mankind’s soul. Within the galleria of madness, he is the Grandmaster of the black ink, and it's Written words of terror. In thus the shadow realm, does his spirit Still roam, on the cutting edge of fear, A fine thin line, is drawn between reality, And fictions illusionary world. Life's a shunned, abandonment’s creation, The lord's misbegotten son, embraced The night's cloak, in it's power His only salvation unto history's Remembrance, is found a truth's Justice and notability's respect. Loves passionate compliant servant, Dashed against the rocks of life itself, Broken and damaged, he rose above The waves of poverty, and the under Current of tragedies broken Heart. Some may say he wrote from the after Effects that laid, at the bottom Of the bottle. Or afterfeeds drug endued comma, dulling The emotional nerves concept between Right and wrong, the social exceptionable Norm. But we care not what others wish to believe, For we honor him, those of us the dark poets, As the father whom lead the way, between Light and dark. Dearest Edger Allen Poe, the legend, the man, A spiritual dark representative, with pens quailed Ink at his command. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN