Ode to Edgar Allan Poe
Dark is the soul of the Poet Poe,
Fears and horrors among the shadows go,
A ravens call, a mortared wall,
His morbid muse, it haunts us all.
Deathly is Poe's gallowed fear,
The ghosts that haunt are always near,
A beating heart, a corpse-filled cart,
His words are brushes of the morbid art.
Dungeoned is the tragic soul,
When faced with evil in control,
A pendulum, nears with every sway,
As readers beg for light of day.
Oh, Mr. Poe, why do you go,
Into the darkness we all do know,
You stir that shudder deep within,
Reminding us, our bent to sin.