Edmund V. Strolis
Edmund V. Strolis Poems
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 ...
Flip the pillow to the cool side, kick the blanket from the bed.
Why sleep to chase a dream, he chose to hold his prize instead.
There within his grass stained grasp, he turned the treasure in his hand.
With dirty nails and scuffed scraped skin, his tangled hair and summer tan.