Poe's Untimely Demise
*Note
I had to bring this one back, though I've been posting mostly new writes here that PS hasn't seen before. This poem has been edited many times over the years. I consider it to be among my best. The meter and rhyme structure are borrowed from the final stanza in the famous Poe poem, Tamarlane. One of the theories proffered as to how Poe died is rabies. I just took it a step further. This won't be everyone's cup of tea, since it is old style traditional poetry. Still, I hope you like it.
Come close and learn the mystery
buried long ago on yonder hill.
The truth revealed in whisp'ring wind
was veiled these past two centuries-
a penance paid for wanton sin?
(To swallow this most bitter pill
cast down my throat against my will
has left me in a troubled state,
and yet this tale I must relate).
An evil gale on that night blew
and terrors that he never knew
would visit him in black of night
as threats were made demanding flight-
he sought out refuge in the heights.
No starry night to light the sky,
no moon o’er head the sky to ply-
just darkness thick as London fog
as ebon creature took to wing-
his old unearthly mystagogue
hovered o’er head - a ghostly thing.
And the raven flew into the night
And the raven flew into the night
(Earlier that night)
A wager made the ante in-
the loser who for want of heart
throws in his last remaining coins
and prays tonight’s the night he’ll win.
The dealer laughs and then enjoins
each one to play, the game to start
before the twilight should depart.
He loses all but pleads to stay-
his title deed now on display.
And so once more a playing hand
is dealt before a wretched band
of sharks who’d never prayed to God,
whose backs had often felt the rod-
the holy path they’d never trod.
But fate once more would him aggrieve-
no winning card hid in his sleeve.
Without a friend or place to go
he leaves the hall with face aghast
and whispers words of hope and woe,
“O that this night might quickly pass."
And the raven flew toward the east
And the raven flew toward the east
The deed a closer look is made
and ‘fore too long ‘tis evident
that all is not quite as it seems-
‘twas nothing but a rook's charade.
Revenge is now the plan they scheme-
this band of thugs with cruel intent
on finding Poe are now hellbent.
And so into the night they sped
with brutish beasts inspiring dread,
the rabid dogs held fast by chain
in chilling wind, in blinding rain.
A movement in the distance seen-
a man alone or so it seems,
the hounds set loose in low ravine.
Their prey runs high upon the hill,
each howl his craven spine would chill
until ill fate caught up with him-
his future prospects rather grim.
The evil jaws upon him clenched,
he screams aloud before the fall,
the poison in his blood entrenched-
delirium soon cast its pall.
And the raven flew toward the light
And the raven flew toward the light
There as he lay upon yon hill,
the chase now o'er, the silence sweet,
he gazes 'bove into the night
as clearing clouds betide goodwill.
He sees an angel dressed in white
and hears a steady rhythmic beat,
so low and calm and quite discreet.
The heavens part to his delight-
the figure standing in the light
extends to him an outstretched hand-
a voice like waters bids him stand.
He wonders now if just a dream
or are things really as they seem-
a voice or just a nearby stream?
Then suddenly he feels no pain
as wind abates and same the rain.
The hand then grabs him by the throat,
another tears his woolen coat,
his life flashed up before his eyes
and thro’ the brightly illumed sky
he sees Miss Clemm to his surprise
whose mournful plea to him is, “Why?”
And the raven flew into the sun
And the raven flew into the sun
He breathed his last then bade goodbye,
that troubled bard who’d gone awry-
the mystery resolved at last
on how it was that Edgar passed.
And if you wonder how I know
these secrets held from long ago…
Copyright ©
Tom Woody
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