Edmund V. Strolis
Edmund V. Strolis Poems
Comments about 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 ...
Upon The Sill
Upon my sill, my kitchen sill
The window to a westward view
Sits a memory of warmer days
Of summer closing for the season
I stole from nature a gem for me
Of seeds exposed but not set free
There the season frozen in time
A milkweed husk of silk treasure