6-1-06

Like Poe I have never written
And may never still
But despite the still
Dark and gloomy of his pen
I wish to inherit
His skill
Drawn through his eternal will

His crafty eloquence
Sings his words of his rage
Sirens lay dead from this old sage
And in the dusk brush sage
Thistles become jewels
Dim greenery a cage
Page after page

Fraught with shiver
Chivalrous his play
As children to play
Chaotic in subject
Murder his choice design
Eternal dark day
Genius from the fray

Like Poe I've never written
But I feel I know the man
Tug on the core of human
Eve's apple he eats
The wisdom of God begotten
To which he ran
And writes as no man can

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