Stormy Hearts

The emotions read like a scene from Poe.
Not the Poe of black feathered ravens,
tell-tale hearts, beating, slowly beating
driving us mad from their shallow graves.
Beneath the floorboards they were hidden.

Not the Poe of black feathered ravens,
slowly preening and fluffing every feather
to assure a velvet smooth polished finish.
Upon the bust of Pallas it slowly waits,
blood dripping like ink spilled upon paper.

Tell-tale hearts, beating, slowly beating;
the echo of voices calling our misdeeds
from beyond the darkened veil of forever.
All the world waited at a fork in the road
and I chose wrong, the trail to eternity.

Driving us mad from their shallow graves,
come the voices and memories again.
These are not maidens dead and gone,
but those cast aside and forgotten,
because they were not right for my image.

Beneath the floorboards they were hidden,
my morals, common sense, and love.
Now they call to me and madness ensues.
Like the true madness of a crazed Poe fan,
with anger and self loathing, my heart beats.