Upon Your Anniversary, Forevermore {in Memory Of Edgar Allan Poe} Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Much mystery still surrounds his Death
The Master of Macabres final breath
One-hundred sixty-nine years have past
Since the Poet, Poe quietly passed.

There be cryptic tales, stories crazed
About this wordsmiths final days
He lived with tell-tale heavy-heart
Lost love, illness... death his art.


Oppressed, depressed- self-infliction
Bled by the ink from his dark addictions
Self-deception, yet surreal reflection
A paradigm of literary pure perfection.

He pioneered the mystery's dawn
In between romantic scorn
tho' his IQ topped one-seventy
His demons forbade his serenity.

Eccentric, absurd his quillings be
Jealous critics tagged them ghastly
He penned with feathered quill by flame
With ne're mind to the green-eye bane.

Recluse and strange intimacy
Many times superseded his poetry
Such sadness in this man whose mind
Was a product of a life unkind.

There be many conflicting stories an' lies
How this Doctor of The Written Word had died
Meritless time spent on this case
Who cares, what day, what time, what place!

Long gone, now, for eight scores and some
Lived life withvice and Roulette gun
Yet that can't blight his legacy
As a legend of story and poetry.

Edgar Allan Poe, my silent friend
In taking my aim at darkside pen
I have read a many authors poetry and prose
Yet none hold a candle...to Edgar Allan Poe.



___ EDGAR ALLAN POE ~1809-1849~ ___



Recorded but Still Unofficial Date of Death
_____________October 7th,1849______________




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Frank James Ryan Jr. / FjR