Edgar

We’d quoth the raven
Its black feathers
With a sorrow that only amuses
Until we know the truth
When its life was a mess
With abandonment
Despair
And addiction
This little raven
This creation of the heavens
And the plutonian shore
The seraphs ignored
But the poets mourn
Stuck in his own Pit
with
His own pendulum
We quoth the raven
Stuck under the floor boards
With the beating of his heart
Unknown till the last hour
Last minute
Final second
He flies away
And many crows try
To take the place of the raven
But a raven flies by
Nevermore