Ghost Of Poe

A mysterious trip to the graveyard, leads into a haunting encounter with the ghost of Poe.

By the rack of a night flies the raven,
With such a harrowing croak I dread,
O'er the burial grounds of a lorn haven,
As he glides forthwith above my head.
Hark, the whispers of ne'ermore...

Too brash is this awful bird that I see,
Within the wind that wiles me here anon,
Reaching the hoary graveyard and his lee,
As I am blind'd by the darkness thereon.
Hark, the whispers of ne'ermore...

Thus, the unsightly seeming too drawn,
Into the night harrying me with a riddle,
And shall haunt me till the brink of dawn,
As my sweating hands and fingers twiddle.
Hark, the whispers of ne'ermore...

Behold the shadow of a gaunt man of prick,
Who roams the misty graveyard of the living,
Dress'd in black, with a hat and walking stick,
By those headstones tenfold of his misgiving.
Hark, the whispers of ne'ermore...

That lonely wretch too dim and dreary,
Now deafen'd in the clum of his gloom, 
And banish'd to a world of naught weary,
Beside prying eyes of the dead that loom.
Hark, the whispers of ne'ermore...

A laden guise of the ungainly man I besought,
His broad forehead, hazel eyes, narrow nose,
His mien seem'd too careworn and bethought,
Whilst the eerie raven had caw'd as he rose.
Hark, the whispers of ne'ermore...

I said, "Thou art curs'd in the nights of fright,
And a man lost within the guilt of his shame!"
Behind a rusty gate swinging with such might,
"Mr Poe, Mr Poe!" I call'd out loud his name.
Hark, the whispers of ne'ermore...

Gone into the night was the ghost of Poe,
As I hark'd whispers of these words anew,
And the weight of his empty soul and woe,
Faltering slowly within the dripping dew.
Hark, the whispers of Lenore...