The Ghost of Edgar Allan Poe

Accosted many years ago By the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe I'm now obliged to come forthright About that dark eye-opening night. It's only fair to let you know I've held a torch for Mr. Poe It's all because of the ink of his pen That my love for poetry did begin. (His sad, sad tale arrested me; the saddest tale I've ever known. Small wonder then when he chose me, an easy prey, home all alone) Toiling to write like him for years Happy was I when his ghost appeared. A tragic figure past, present and now He entered my room with a humble bow. And fixed me with a haunting stare And whispered softly 'life's not fair.' I nodded my head just to agree When a strange sensation took hold of me. Possession felt more than 9/10's of the law I felt frozen and badly in need of a thaw. My body, not mine now was his to command; Just a shell, a mere puppet, at the will of this man. His voice so melodic, belied malice or vice. He drew near to the fireplace, the warm hearth felt nice. There was music, a waltz, seemed familiar {mere chance?) Embracing the moment we started to dance. His thoughts were with mine now And mine were with his And I swear by my bank book As long as I live The unbearable pain of his loss gripped my heart And the moment I fainted we were ripped apart. He was anguished at how he had handled his grief, How his life was cut short by his own inner thief. He'd wanted to write more His mind was an ark Just those few moments with him Woke the poet in my heart. And so it happened in just one night He taught me verse; he taught me rhyme And stretched my mind to higher heights That's quite developed over time. He's never visited my bedroom since Or with my body had his way. He left me with this gift or sixth sense Of a fire for poetry that burns in my veins. Unfinished business is quite finished now. Passing on I imparted to him 'quid pro quo.' 'Rest in peace, the whole world Knows your name Mr. Poe.' -Reta Pruitt July 22.2018