A String of Simile
Words bind me, wrapping around me like vines
And like vines they grow, and constrict, like a boa
And like a boa they hiss in my ear, the most wonderful things.
Words chain me, tethering my wrists and ankles like iron
And like iron they do not rot or wither, like Eternity,
And like Eternity, I do not know when they will end.
Words shackle me, holding me down like paralysis,
And like paralysis, they have no immediate cure - like Love,
And like Love, within them I am free and beautiful and alive.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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