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Poems inspirited by Edgar Allen Poe

My Son.

While I sitting here waiting for life end.
With ‘The Fall of the House of Usher’ just out gasp.
My hand is weakening with cold in my cripple joints.
The creaking for my bones is enough to call the grim reaper himself.
Wake up my son; your father is calling you.
The ‘Raven’ is at my window with his black feathers.
But my son must come.

My Father.

I am woken by voice that echoing.
Has that time come?
But yet it must have.
In the rocking chair he sits.
With Edgar Allen Poe on the floor.
Shall I acquaintance him with grotesque fairy tale.
That waits for him?

The Grotesque Fairy Tale.

The grotesque fairy-tale is my place.
Of fire and brim stone, my throne waits.
Just the existence of it, my father’s soul is tainted.
He wants be pure but yet he created me.
My skin is hot to the touch and redness then you can imagine.
My soul is pure white just like his.
He curls up with the Raven in the corner.
Try to convince Raven to take flight with him in the creature’s claws.

Soul Palace.

Flounder soul, wander here or there.
Where shall the soul go?
Wallowing the pity of their near afterlife.
Ominous is soul, round macabre in his palace.
Small instruments made their music heard.
The poor soul just waits but is never alone.

The Obscurity.

Hallucination of the bogeymen in distance.
Silhouette dances in the mist of obscurity.
Maze is thickening across chersonese.
The Phantom arrive that palace door.
Pounding with his giant size fist.
Wanting his pound flesh.

The Joint.

My joints will leave me soon.
They crease to move without effort.
I am in hell with fire, burn my joints.
The flesh is being cooked for my tea.
The meat is falling of bone.
It tender in my mouth.
It tastes delicious.
Would you like some?

Murder In Mind.

Who shall I murder today?
Should be my neighbor or friend?
Or maybe even you?
Shall slice and diced you with my meat carver?
Tied you up and let blood drained down the sink?
Drugged you with lots pills in your tea?
Maybe just leave you for other day.

Twisting Of Fate.

Twisting of fate is in the air.
Its turn of my spirit.
Is deep ed and around of sinister feelings.
Murder or act of violence is flooding my soul.
With the rope hang there.
With your neck.
Incase in it.

Copyright (C) 2011, Zoolane