Greg Pappas
12-22-2009, 12:53 PM
December Remembers
Undaunted, I determined to capture the essence of Edgar Alan Poe
And woe they said, I’d turn up dead, if I did surely go,
and see his site and in the least likely frightened, and brought thusly low
But no, I, inspired by his words dire, desired just to know
To taste the wind that blows so close to his final resting home
To breathe as he, the air from the sea, that salty flavor savored so
And suddenly sensed I, the suspense that brought me here, hence the cold
Yes, December remembers I think, of Poe,
of winter nights like tonight, that rattle me so
With mist wrought from the depths upon these steps I challenge, and hastily go
And these creaking gates shall not abate my yearning that yet grows
And deeper still burns my will to discover his poetic skill,
to show he, the Lord Macabre, that though time has passed,
at last another takes the task
demanding now and commanding how my pen, words that flow ... ... ...
As did his, but… Truth whispers to me,
here as I kneel before Poe’s grave, that in lifeless eves his mind deceived him so
For cheers were afforded him in spirited years
That wine betrayed him, laid him low
And woe was he at the end of days, suffered upon the street he laid, lonely and afraid
Wanting in his fading heart to caress the best lady he did ever know
“Lenore, the angels named her!” he cried, then died, denied her love
But a love affair from pages shared, was in heaven found above
And I, with tears that fall to muddy this sacred place, am ashamed to seek his touch
And as such I feel shallow and rather fallow, yet do pause to honor Poe
Then off I am, evermore away,
whilst a Raven gleans this haunting scene
...watching closely as I go
--Greg Pappas
Whispers, Shadows & Dreams
Undaunted, I determined to capture the essence of Edgar Alan Poe
And woe they said, I’d turn up dead, if I did surely go,
and see his site and in the least likely frightened, and brought thusly low
But no, I, inspired by his words dire, desired just to know
To taste the wind that blows so close to his final resting home
To breathe as he, the air from the sea, that salty flavor savored so
And suddenly sensed I, the suspense that brought me here, hence the cold
Yes, December remembers I think, of Poe,
of winter nights like tonight, that rattle me so
With mist wrought from the depths upon these steps I challenge, and hastily go
And these creaking gates shall not abate my yearning that yet grows
And deeper still burns my will to discover his poetic skill,
to show he, the Lord Macabre, that though time has passed,
at last another takes the task
demanding now and commanding how my pen, words that flow ... ... ...
As did his, but… Truth whispers to me,
here as I kneel before Poe’s grave, that in lifeless eves his mind deceived him so
For cheers were afforded him in spirited years
That wine betrayed him, laid him low
And woe was he at the end of days, suffered upon the street he laid, lonely and afraid
Wanting in his fading heart to caress the best lady he did ever know
“Lenore, the angels named her!” he cried, then died, denied her love
But a love affair from pages shared, was in heaven found above
And I, with tears that fall to muddy this sacred place, am ashamed to seek his touch
And as such I feel shallow and rather fallow, yet do pause to honor Poe
Then off I am, evermore away,
whilst a Raven gleans this haunting scene
...watching closely as I go
--Greg Pappas
Whispers, Shadows & Dreams