Poe

He mourned the loss of his love, for whose support his soul’s survival had come to desperately rely: Lenore!~ the only one less judgmental of his irrational, often self-destructive, passionate nature; who had committed herself loyally to embracing and nurturing Poe's celebratory poetic genius.  Oh!~his tormented heart yearned, hopelessly seeking the peace, rest, comfort, an out-of-control creative furnace kept at taunting distance. Day and night, a throng of demons haunted his pen -- and her love, his only elixir of longevity.  When she perished, so in spirit did he. Lenore, who had saved his immortal psyche from the abyss, was gone...and sealed then was his fate.  Let it be stated, evil he was not! Insane? No writer of worth approaches the precipice normally; one does not begin such sojourn without the consultation of unseen protagonist-stars and other intangible celestial guides.  The coffin he entered, dove deeply into dank crypts far more timid shrank from while yet alive; confronted phantoms of morbid despair and oblivion; sank with them in suffocating, evermore dreadful gloom, to suffer as they on their own abysmal turfs – remiss if not to speculate: like hideous creatures many of us will face upon death -- far less armed...for, unlike he~ not knowing.

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Valsa George

Date: 8/14/2025 9:23:00 PM

I used to love Edgar allen's poems as an undergraduate student. Because of his rhyming and use of alliteration, he is known as a jingling poet. His life was tumultuous especially after the death of his wife. He became a great alcoholic. I don't know if Lenore is his wife's real name. Dear Joe, you have written a lovely tribute to the poet, celebrating his love for Lenore.

Joe Dimino
Date: 8/14/2025 9:41:00 PM

Witman disrespected him, called him simply a Jingle Maker. Lenore was not his wife's name -- but the sense of loss, isolation, a perpetual disconnect and sadness was constant theme throughout his poetry. Annabel Lee another such poetic personification of grief. As he said in Dream Within A Dream: From childhood's hour, I have not seen as others saw; from the same source I have not taken my sorrow...and all I loved I loved alone (as I recall, close enough) -- Thinking back, he was probably my first fond introduction to poetry~ The Raven. Thank you, Valsa.

Mystic Rose Rose

Date: 8/14/2025 10:14:00 AM

I agree who knows how we would react in face of death of a loved one, we don't know until we are in it, then its either sink or swim. Thank you for this poem Joe, you know what they say, the best poems comes from those suffering souls who bleed their pen, I believe that !

Joe Dimino
Date: 8/14/2025 10:43:00 AM

Thank you, Vie; to be a complete poet, one must have to have lived a good and bad life. A happy and sad life.