The Raving Poem by Mike King

Once upon a weekend dreary
While I stumbled drunk and bleary
Over the bottles and beer cans strewn across my motel floor.
Suddenly there came a knocking,
Knocking, knocking, knocking,
Just outside my motel door
Only this, and nothing more
'It's the cops, ' I muttered,
About to break in the door.
There was no hiding this
ghastly thing lying on my motel floor.
She was hacked to pieces,
Shattered like the bottles on the motel's floor.
Ah, I remember it was a cold December and the evening's
embers shone upon the
Severed members of my
Sweet Lenore. Oh my God, the blood and gore!
And the silken sad uncertain
Rustling of each blood stained curtain, thrilled me,
Chilled me as I relived
The savage deed the day before.
Only this and nothing more.
But the cops, intently beating, beating, beating!
'Sirs, ' said I, earnestly entreating, 'Do come in, let's
Talk of the thing upon the floor.'
'Gentlemen, I beg you, when
You see what's before you-
A dead prostitute, a whore.
Nothing less, nothing more.'
They recoiled in horror and backed to the door.
Said I, 'It's a dreadful sight
That started last night, and
Ended with the death of this
Whore named Lenore! '
The wine bottles and beer cans mute witness bore.
They stood there haunted, daunted, by an evil they had never seen before

Only this and nothing more

I awoke with a shaking,
Feverish and quaking, mind
racing, reeling, as I stared at the ceiling and I felt a relief
Like never before! .
Beside me lying, murmuring
And sighing, 'Are you living or dying? '
She did implore.

'Just a nightmare sweetheart, go back to sleep
My sweet Lenore.'