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Poet Destroyer A . Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
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Poet Destroyer A
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Images of feathers
"Once upon a midnight Poe"
Underneath my midnight mask, I remove, the makeup at last,
The moon is anvil to my mood, mooring along the vacant vast
I lay the Gin and Tonic, by my bedside, asking for more,
I hear a noise, a lost voice, the echoes of no rejoice,
I could not ignore the light coming from the cracks in the open door
Giving it some thought,
My eyes twinkle, towards the tinsel tiles on the floor
Seemingly the light seems to be deeming, a distance, of resistance
Curiosity, came a crawling, and caressing,
To feel and taste, sinful skin,
Everything then, grew thinner than thin,
Suddenly, I hear a whisper, my love is near
"Darkness there, and nothing more."
A nerve impulse, hits the wall, of nothing nary, nevertheless
I sadistically, stagger a sullen movement, notwithstanding
Is this, a moment, Edgar Whispered, "nothing more."
Many nights, I dream of demonic demons, demanding answers for
A sad --sadder voice, sits and whines, with the wind
"Only this, and nothing more!"
A natuary, nauseate moment, sea sick, shipwrecked floor
Secular suicide spreading like gossip, sailing through my veins
Evilly and twisted, "This it is, and nothing more" - that remains
Tweaking, and repeating, the speeding, of needing
My drugs, of pain and passion, to end the illusion
Of the self inflicted - bruising, from the voices of my choices
I hear the whisper, a selfish whisper, asking for Lenore
How many nights, he comes into my room, dress like A Raven
Painted, and tainted, like the midnight dreary
Reciting, and exciting, like The Bells, of Annabel Lee, in fury
Never, never, nameless here forevermore, in my dreams
Under my evil doing skin, like the sum of sin, is how it seems
On the nights my soul mate does not appear,
The anchor drowns and torments me with tears
I ravel up in fear, of the fear, when my ghost is not near
Rattling and trembling, by the bedside,
On the dark side of the mental moon, when in gloom
I scratch my room, screaming to the bleeding,
From my heart, who needs a killing,
From a feeding and the feeling of letting Poe, go!
Inspired by The Raven