Treasure Island

Robert Rumery

(1-17-85 / Dover-Foxcorft, Maine)


I'm sitting in a dimly lit room,
the only sounds,
are the sweet caws,
of the crows and the ravens,
that rest outside of my door,
my mind races,
I hear a sound,
a scratching,
a clawing,

what is that,
something trying to get in,
a soul that cannot rest,
what is that noise,
I release my mind,
from the state it's in,
I clear my head,
try to focus on,
the task that is set before me,
a squawk,
a claw,
a scratch,

my mind races again,
thinking of things,
that could be out there,
in the dark,
out there in the night,
I light a candle,

to give me more light,
to make these noises go away,
to make the visions,
in the brain stop,
could it be,

Edgar Allan Poe,
talking to me from the behind the grave,
another squawk,
they must be talking to me,
telling me something,
what it is I can't understand,
what do they want me to do,
another squawk,
it's all clear now,
it's The Raven talking to me,
it's repeating it's famous line 'Nevermore'
I shall think,
No more,

I shall sit here,
in this dimly-lit room,
and focus on my work,
focus on my poetry,
on my madness,
yes, Nevermore,
It makes sense,
To Quoth The Raven 'Nevermore'

Submitted: Saturday, November 12, 2011
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  • Dave Walker (11/12/2011 11:16:00 AM)

    Really really love this. A fantastic poem.
    A great write.
    May i invite you to read my new poem called,
    Dream World. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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