Edmund V. Strolis

Edmund V. Strolis Poems

81. This Talk Of Liberte 11/14/2015
82. Paper Flower Crowns 11/11/2015
83. Save The Marker 11/11/2015
84. Are You Tin Or Titanium? 11/17/2015
85. The Eternal Web 11/23/2015
86. My Weary Friend 10/22/2015
87. The Shipwrecked Fool 10/21/2015
88. Mountain Man Of The Rockies 10/20/2015
89. Step Outside Yourself 10/20/2015
90. Over The Rainbow 10/20/2015
91. Rosalina My Italian Mother 10/8/2015
92. The Comet's Tale 10/18/2015
93. The King 10/4/2015
94. The Storm 10/4/2015
95. The Snowglobe 10/4/2015
96. The Soldier 10/4/2015
97. The Good Man 10/5/2015
98. Frank Sinatra 10/6/2015
99. The Valley 10/4/2015
100. The Yellow Cup 10/4/2015
101. The Long Shadow 10/4/2015
102. The Spirit 10/4/2015
103. String Theory 10/20/2015
104. Some Un-Rushed Morning... 10/21/2015
105. The Lucky Man 11/9/2015
106. Angeline-A Tribute To Edgar Allan Poe 10/24/2015
107. The Sociopath Grins 10/26/2015
108. Season Of Love 10/26/2015
109. The Canker Worm Crime 11/22/2015
110. Spend Life's Coins Your Way 11/20/2015
111. A Wave And A Smile 12/9/2015
112. The Thought Police 11/29/2015
113. Fellow Traveler 1/8/2016
114. Merry Christmas Towne Crier 12/25/2015
115. The Woman 1/2/2016
116. Carpe Diem 2/10/2016
117. 4 Little Wing 1/13/2016
118. Fletcher Man 1/29/2016
119. Carry On 2/11/2016
120. Come With Me On A Mind Adventure 2/20/2016
Best Poem of Edmund V. Strolis

Edgar Allan Poe

They all wash over me with pitying eyes, they think that I don't see.
Yet they are only crude jagged faces on the canvas of my dreams.
Empty their wishes float, as they seem to pray my safe return.
How can they know the fever that within this prison burns.

For what is this sinister slow waltz to hell without my sweet Lenore?
My wish which any fool can guess, I must be with her once more.
How my heels find their way to that vacant tomb beyond the bedroom door.
Now I curse the promise of that desperate hour! not to join my love Lenore.

Hooves over ...

Read the full of Edgar Allan Poe

The Storm

Silence in still anticipation, a hellish storm is brewing in the west.
A robins nest within the pines, will shred and cartwheel with the rest.

Arrow straight across the stillness, the mourning doves retreat.
Before a gray wall now deep purple, with daylight in defeat.

Noon has now turned to night, as ancient wonder grips us all.
To stay or run is the question, we ask ourselves, so frail, so small.

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