Poem I wrote when trying to write in the style of the great Edgar Allan Poe. |
Scarlet River Dance upon the scarlet river Pulsating red substance of life A thousand souls hath spilled Their Life's blood Upon thy curséd riverbed Fly o'er the scarlet river Flowing crimson liquid of death Given, taken, tis all the same Though no two drops are the same Veins sliced, arteries slashed Outward flows that crimson tide On which rides my soul's departure Slowly sinking thee and thy Into the black abyssal plane of death Never again will we walk those stainéd shores Gazing sleepily at the undulating tide Creeping closer to my toes Only to slither back again Fickle, Fickle, oh be fortune Fickle My life in the hands of thy small child How quickly their attention ends So sparatic thee hath become The Pain! The Pain! My heart spasms My brain hurtling through darkening chasms My lungs collapsing, that I fear For they hath not drawn a breath For the last few moments now I feel the numbness creeping Slowly, slowly surely Is there naught I can do? To stop Death's graceful pirouette That shall slowly, surely close mine eyes Glide, nay, skim across the crimson river Feel the tainted river's spray Upon thy angelic face Your pallor comes now swiftly Your hands are slightly atremble As the last few drops of color drain away Now your eyelids begin to droop And the world's white noise is drowning out So you may only hear the labored breathing And those final heartbeats pitter-patter Inside thy courageous breast Never again will we walk those stainéd shores As you gaze so peacefully At the scarlet river’s undulating tide |