Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
PoeT
This is your voice;
cutting diamonds,
piercingly soft,
sublime…
This is
your song;
jar-trapped,
lock-clasped,
and buried…
These are your words
bleeding…
shed of soul;
wickedly pure,
beautiful-immortal…
Apryl Skies 2011
ALONE
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were---I have not seen
As others saw---I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I loved alone.
Then---in my childhood---in the dawn
Of a most stormy life---was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold---
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by---
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
* * *
The Empty
Bellows
Whatever
would my life become,
had
I abandoned my every fear
Suddenly
my eyes,
my
eyes, so Cassiopeia-clear…
My life before her,
a sinking ship
without the velvet of her lips
Wasting away on a stagnant,
slack-eyed tide,
no waves nor wind
for this vessel to ride…
Should oceans
become my rain,
shall I pour out
my every pain
into a tiny glass
and drink it during
Midnight mass?
And if I would
have stood before her
to confess my every sorrow,
felt deeply,
both soul and morrow
Would she, could she
climb inside my lock
to become my only key…
Her
voice a softly,
ocean breeze~
And then;
would we gaze down
upon mountains,
or drink from endless,
flowing fountains…
Would we tread upon
the flowers of clouds
breaking the cocoon
of all our doubts…
With her lips
to mine in vain,
Inhaling the softness
of her frame
and drinking the blood
of sinful saints
Will we spin the axis
of our fates?
And when these
empty bellows roar,
alone I take this final tour
and be far more
content in death
for I am not
an unexpected guest
and gazing down
from this paradise
are the twinkling stars
of my Lover’s eyes...
My Dearest living,
there is no heartbreak
underground
for merrily our souls
will dance while the tired
sun falls down
and oh such shameful revelry,
my sweetest, Annabel Lee
not even when
my dreams seduce
have I ever felt so free…
*Inspired by Spirits Of The Dead,
Annabel Lee & Dreams
~By Edgar Allan Poe*
Apryl Skies © 2009
A. Skies © 2009
A. Skies © 2009
"...insatiable; the affinity of Amber-eyed graveyard goats for the gluttonous graze of wilted bouquets..."
Excerpt: Cemetery Flowers
~By Apryl Skies
I was recently contacted by Irish poet Tomás Ó Cárthaigh inquiring about the photo above, Goats in a Graveyard, taken in Paia Maui. This kind and talented Sir asked for my blessing in that he write a poem inspired by this photo. The outcome is the video below... a timeless gift...
Go raibh maith agat...
~Apryl Skies~
