True Poets' Punishment (Part 2)

My heels clicked on the floor that was rock-hard – Looking around, I found myself in a grave yard. I carefully walked into the cemetery, (left without a guard,) – Into the stack of buried souls, beaten and scarred. The raven rested on one of the tombstones – You might think me insane, (for some reason unknown,) It transformed into a carving, a figurine that shone! – I was left astounded, grasping to my sanity - all alone. And right under the portrayal I could see – The tomb of Edgar Allan Poe, before me. My delusions had reached their uttermost apogee – Leaving me shuddering, fallen on my knees. “This shall be your end too, this is your fate” – Whispered a chilling voice, with certainty so great. “It’s a bard’s retribution! For all the tragedy he creates” – Whispered the same chilling voice, with certainty so great. My vocal strings entwined; I could barely speak – Vulnerable and fragile, my mouth longed to shriek. This must be all the true poets' punishment, (thought of as freaks,) – For blind compliance and acceptance they never seek.