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.
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