At the Knife Edge of That Deep, Dark Abyss

At The Knife Edge Of That Deep, Dark Abyss I that was born on a dark, stormy night So gifted at young age, deeper insight, Lead to safety of ever brighter Light Freed from darkest of dark, began to write. A child begging Nature to my pleas hear Oft with whimpering words and falling tears, Imaginative child, whispers one hears Tempting shadows to hit me with more fears. A teen, mourning a death that my soul broke Farther into books my heart sat to soak, Awaiting each, as black the ill wind blows Felt such abhorrent fears, as such oft goes. By birth, sponge set to seek out Master Poe. Living, pen and paper, writing to grow. Robert J. Lindley, 1-26-2020 Sonnet, ( Echoes Heard As Old Rooster Rose To Crow )