Edgar's Ink
In homage to Mr Poe....
He dreamt a dream,
a violent vignette
a sorry scene,
he could not forget
He rose from his rest
and bolted the bed,
but the visions he'd viewed
would not leave his head
He set to scribbling
those terrible thoughts,
thinking that would
be the release he sought
He penned a poem
of the saddest sorrow,
a vivid volume
of terrible tomorrows
He wrote those words
in an ink of tears,
with a pen of pain,
on a sheaf of fears
He trusted those thoughts
would salve his soul
so he'd sleep soundly
in his hole
But when he woke
again next night,
his heart now had
a fearful fright
He saw in waking
the very scene
that'd in his sleep
afore he'd seen
As he looked on
his horror grew
and as he watched
'twas then he knew
Now, in his room
the dream did dwell;
it truly held
him in its spell
This cursed vision
of fear and fright
now ruled his mind
both day and night
But then, he saw
the candle burn
and his fevered thoughts
began to turn
He took the pages
that he did write
and held them to
the candlelight
The words began
to dance about
and leapt from the page
with a mournful shout
The pages then
burst into flames
and ran round him
chanting names
'Oh Lucifer,
Beelzebub,
Sammael
and Belial'
'Baphomet,
Mastema,
Lilith and
Azazel'
The words whirled round
and round his head
as he lay quivering
in his bed
And as he watched,
he came to see
his own body
floating free
He began to spin
at such a pace
no longer did
he know his place
He'd spun so fast
by this evil's throttle
he turned to liquid
and was quickly bottled
And now he waits,
he sits and thinks
of when another
will use that ink
To write a poem
of pity and pain,
so he may yet
be freed again
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