As a fan of horror, mystery, and suspense, there is nothing better than a great story. And, as a writer, there is nothing more that I want than to craft a great story. One of my influences, and reasons why I love these genres is Edgar Allan Poe. His words and storytelling abilities were amazing, which is why they have stood the test of time. Poe was a flawed man, but, the real flaw in his life was that he was taken too soon. Today, on what would have been his 214th birthday, I have come up with this little poetic tribute to one of my biggest influences and a true genius.
Enigma's
I stand quietly upon the land,
The vast countenance of oblivion staring into my depths,
Lucid stairways alive at last;
And illicit secrecies surround the silent enigmas once held dear,
Blind but I can see,
Dead but I can breathe,
A final frontier of all that was,
A dismal remnant of what will be,
Random elements twist through the darkness,
Creating life from the impossible,
A lone specimen from the mind of the master,
Edgar whispered; he lost his cat…
…Is it here?
Is this hollow existence merely a dream?
A spectral theory rising from a demonic abyss,
Is anyone here?
Can anyone hear me?
No, just the nothingness of decay shrouded by exile,
Trapped by a forgotten paradox once held as truth,
Am I alive?
Or, am dead?
I can feel every sensation, but cannot touch the frigid memories,
Paralyzed inside this void; no one answers my call,
Failed experiments cloud my vision; my secrets remain unseen,
Another string is strung…
… And the cat cries from the wall.
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