Ode To Edgar Allan Poe Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

ODE TO EDGAR ALLAN POE

The tall, ruined tower, by the sea of sable wine,
Where silver stars alight, in the moonless night,
Is the seat of a raven which rarely takes flight;
Its dark eyes look down on the scorpions of the brine.

With each chilling breeze that poison billows carry
From dusky, northern currents of the half-swallowed pier,
Heard in the dreadful hall, where heads and horror marry,
Are whispers of the dead beneath a swinging chandelier.

A skeletal sister clutches for a face
In the blackness of the castle's most deserted place,
Wrought by the hand of madness, not ended.

In the screaming, wild wind, from splintered coffins wail the damned;
The raven wraps his talon around the weird sister's hand.
All this is Poe- his hells have all ascended!