From whose mind, hath wrot these horrors?
From which ends, hath their beginnings?
From this soul hath waited endlessly,
When last thou hast said to me:
"Oh, come with me thy love,
For all which is done, hath been done!"
And we forevermore shall begin
Our days together, naught with sin
But thou hast grown with anger,
And holds in thy midst so much danger
That I hath come to know you no more,
Than thy own love before
This insanity that hath begun,
Hath the fires of a thousand suns
That I may remind you: I do you no harm
Than to hold you in mine arms
So begone! Thy demons of yore!
Leave thy husband, I beg you, no more!
So that he may live with me in peace,
So this, his madness, may finally cease
Author notes
This poem is dedicated to Edgar Allan Poe, one of my favorites. Lenore is watching Edgar from above and comments to him about what she has seen him go through, and that she will wait for him when the time comes...ahh such love...
How was it?
Comments
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Wow!!! Very impressive. I felt like I was in a Shakespeare play.
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Nothing echoes like the past, and being haunted by them to where you just can't be happy, I enjoyed this write. Blessings.
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