The Raven Revisited

The Raven Revisited
A tribute to Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary
While I pondered in my library,
I stumbled on a book amidst
The cobwebs and dust.
Ah, some quaint and curious lore,
A volume of forgotten yore,
When lo, I heard a rapping,
Someone tap-tap-tapping
At my chamber door. . .


How distinctly I remember
On that blust'ry, bleak December
As I settled in my cushion
On the library floor,
Thinking, hoping, and perhaps-ing
That this rapping, tap-tap-tapping
In the chambers of my heart
Was but a murmur, nothing more.


So I turned the brittle pages,
And in so turned back the ages
To a tale grotesquely morbid
Of some phantom called "Lenore."
When again that tap-tap-tapping
In my heart began its rapping
As I mused, this is a flutter,
Too much coffee, nothing more.


Or could it be this thought of ravens,
Black sunken eyes and sullen faces
Bring such feelings of disquietude
As never sensed before,
For the rapping and the tapping
While it continued happ'ning
I convinced myself, 'tis my imagination,
Nothing more.


Shadows looming, vultures feeding,
Tell-tale-hearts from pages bleeding
Stained my fingers as they fumbled
Through the corpses of Rue Morgue,
When once again that weary pendulum
In my chest began trembling.
Oh, this rapping, tap-tap-tapping
Is absurdity, nothing more!


Soon, too soon the strains grew stronger
'Til my heart could stand no longer,
Thus I screamed, who are you?!
What are you?! Answer, I implore!
When a faint, disturbing echo
In my soul began to heckle
As I heard a demon cackle,
"Quoth the raven ........ Never More!"


Oh, disaster! Call the doctor!
Bring the White Coats who will lock her
In a padded cell where she belongs!
The Madman is reborn!
For even now his raven's whisper
Has become her insane sister
In the tintinnabulation of those bells-bells-bells-bells. . .
And I can't take it anymore!


Then in the midst of my bemoaning
Came a rapping and a groaning
In the hall outside the library,
And as I flung open the door
I saw a boy in his pajamas,
Saying, "Mother, stop the dramas,
Close the book and come to bed,
'Tis but a story, nothing more."


Now I stood with red eyes blazing,
With my vision blurred and glazing
As I broke in visceral laughter,
My knees buckling to the floor.
So my son helped me to bed
And threw the covers o'er my head
To drown both voices quick and dead,
'Til I could hear nothing more.


Yet, oh, I can see the poet wandering
As I lay here tossing, pondering,
Has his ghost found restful vengeance
In this house of mine and yours?
Haunting insomniacs in their libraries
On bleak December midnight drearies?
And as I drift away to dreams,
I hear him scream. . .

"Forever More!"



Readers may visit the following websites for more information on Edgar Allen Poe:
www.poemuseum.org and www.eapoe.org.