Sepulchral Whispers: a Plathian Annabel Lee Redux
In the shade and slip of paternal seas,
a daughter dwells, known to all,
consumed in thought by maternal deceits.
Angel's flared bells blow a squall,
in protest of her love for only me.
I was a father, and she my child,
a fated mistake incarnation,
an angry descendant, the sea grows wild.
Waves of revulsion, attempt at purgation,
in disgust of her love for me.
Seraphs and hell-dwellers covet alike,
lissome Anna, they claim as their kin.
Honey-vermillion fledglings make seiche,
as expiation for the sin,
of her love for me.
Blue as humans, angels with disdain,
hatched a terrible plan ill-conceived,
sent a cyanic wind, Anna's breath now is slain,
leaving the whole of creation bereaved,
in spite of her love for me.
A father sees the reason of heathens
(as all men call rapacious saints)
that blew onto Anna the poisonous breezes,
and imposed dirty deathbed constraints,
on her unnatural love for me.
Surprised then they were, no wiser than thee,
realized they can never dissever,
despite how they tried from my Annabel Lee,
my soul tie to her is forever,
held fast in her love for me.
Sour lemon moon now stealing my dreams,
of a once devoted daughter.
Dark, starless nights capturing screams,
lamenting angelic slaughter,
of the love they snatched from me.
In burial chamber's embrace, my Annabel lies serene;
still strange affection lingers in her remains.
Neither angel nor demon could have foreseen,
the futile attempt of death's chains,
to restrain her love for me.
Even at end, entwine of despair,
our bond persists beyond the cold air.
Sick silence of tombs by the sea,
soft echoes of endless decree,
Annabel whispers her love, still, only to me.
Copyright ©
Jaymee Thomas
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