Preternatural 9
I am the Raven
(Based on Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I flew by, weak and weary,
Under a quiet and cloudy sky above, field and home,
While I landed, nearly crashing, I saw a man nodding, napping,
And then I began tapping, tapping as he awoke, no longer napping
The sound of someone gently rapping, rapping upon his bedroom door.
"Tis some person, he muttered, "tapping at my bedroom door-
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, his attention I am entreating as he rose, his heart speeding
I saw him standing, as the light cast shadows on the floor.
Eagerly I forbade the morrow; vainly I had sought his sorrow
For my effort to increase his sorrow- sorrow for his lost Lenore-
For the lovely maiden- whom death did explore.
Haunted here for evermore.
And then began the uncertain rustling of each satin curtain
Thrilled him- filled him with wonderful terrors, he would now explore;
So that now, I could hear his heart beating, as he stood repeating,
"Tis some person entreating entrance at my bedroom door-
Some late person entreating entrance at my bedroom door;-
This it is, and nothing more.
Presently my laugh grew stronger; he hesitated then no longer,
"Sir," said he, "or Ghost, your forgiveness I implore;
But I was napping, and you came gently rapping, please leave my door!
For I wish to sulk in sorrow, sorrow for my lost Lenore,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"-- here he opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long he stood there staring, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams his mind dared not to explore;
But the silence was unbroken, and intended to keep him sulking,
The only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This he whispered, and darkness only echoed back the word, "Lenore!"-
Only this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my hatred within me burning,
Soon again I tapped somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said he, "there has to be something at my window, knocking:
Let me see, now, what is knocking, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open fully he flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In I stepped upon the sill, and in I kept without a still;
Not the least obeisance made I; not a minute stopped or stayed did I;
But, with power of lord or lady, I perched above his bedroom door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above his bedroom door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
The man stood there upon me staring, as a smile was there, escaping
By the grave and disturbing mourning, his mind was now unfolding
"Though thy be born of Raven, thou," he said, "art sure no Raven,
Ghastly grim and ancient wandering spirit from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy ghastly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !”
And I said, Nevermore.
Much I marveled this curious fool to see him fearing evermore,
Though my answer gave little meaning-much relevancy it bore;
For I cannot help enjoying that no Raven ever knowing
Yet was blest with seeing a disturbed man engaged in ranting,
This I say is the beginning, and now my mind he will explore
Plotting, Nevermore.
He continued staring, as I continued sitting, I only muttered
Nevermore, as I enraptured his soul lost in mourning
Nothing further then he uttered-not a feather then I fluttered-
Till he then did mutter something of friends and forgotten lore
Leaving me still, there conceiving what I then conceding
As I then repeated, Nevermore.
Startled at my reply so sternly spoken as the stillness broken
As then he continued staring, sitting and considering my soul spoken
As he spoke, I stared, not listening, my eyes fully piercing,
Eyes so black as I burned him longer, as he stared ever harder,
His soul was mine and lost to him forevermore
As I then muttered, Nevermore.
But I sat there beguiling his fancy into smiling,
As he wheeled a cushioned seat in front of I, bust, and door;
Then he upon the cushion sinking, I pondered what he was thinking
Thinking about me, an ominous bird of yore, as he stared without blinking-
What I, a grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking Nevermore.
This he sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
My fowl fiery eyes now burned into his bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, In my head I finally deciding
As the lamplight kept on shining on the cushion's velvet lining,
But upon this velvet violet lining with the lamplight shining,
His illusions defining, and his mind wants more
Then the air grew denser, her perfume from an unseen censer
My deception dragged on longer, as his ranting grew stronger.
“Bird,” he cried, “thy Night hath lent thee- by the Devil, he hath sent thee
Remove- remove and wash thee, from thy memories of Lenore !
Drink, oh, drink this kind Lethe and forget this lost Lenore !”
Quoth I, Nevermore.
“Raven!” he said, “thing of evil!- raven still, if bird or devil!-
Whether the Devil he sent, or whether he tossed thee here ashore.
To me he calls, he calls these words of evil- am I enchanted by the Devil-
This I not- no Devil control me, I am unholy, bird of yore-
“Is this home by evil haunted?- tell me- tell me, I implore!”
Quoth I, Nevermore.
“Raven!” he said, “thing of evil- raven still, if bird or devil!
By these words, he offends thee- Now my fun, I implore-
No Devil hath sent thee, to ever haunt, For your insanity, I implore!
“Remind me not of the angelic maiden whom death did explore-
That clasp my lovely maiden whom death did implore.
Quoth I, Nevermore.
“Be that word your sign departing, bird or fiend,” he shrieked, upstarting-
“Leave thee from thy bust and door-Release thy firm grasp I have endured
Leave thy home though hath invaded, back onto the Nightly shore!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
I just sat there in anger-For my forgiveness he must now implore!
Quoth I, Nevermore.
For his will is surely broken, if his ramblings give some token-
Setting, shrinking on the velvet cushion, for his sense is no more;
His heart and soul enraptured, in death's dark shadow captured
Lost in sorrow; within the dead glow of the lamplight streaming-
My life, I live now and forever upon this bust above his door
Insane here- Evermore!
Copyright 2000 Joe S. Lee