Edgar Allan Poe's works of mystery's conception,
tortured by teacher's insistent-incessant interjection.
The genius of a mad man with talent and support,
overshadowed is Poe's talented loud report.

But drowning words break surface and sound,
whispers dry off and storylines begin to expound.
Hearts beat, words repeat; walls call and houses fall.
Pendulums sing, terror will ring; guilt does confess...
As retribution's revenge doth profess!

Later in one's life walking the streets, Baltimore;
literary hints hit me more and more.
Funny how you notice, plaques said, "Poe was here;"
you are now walking Poe's life, yes it becomes clear.

Lost you find Poe's House, a museum of his mind;
funny and tantalizing this weary traveler's find!
As if guided writer to writer, by Poe's own hand;
a respite, yet curiosity ... Poe's effect does land.

Poe's house becomes an interesting and warm home,
fitting into psyche well, as scant fact becomes tome.
Poe's Baltimore life and house needs to be preserved;
he captures so many travelers its care is deserved.

No, it's for future people; not how the house influences me;
so like indelible words, Poe's mortar needs a future history!

Poe's spirit is there ... On occasion I do sense!
Imagine an admiring parent, showing their child,
who will grow up and Poe's words and memory
to others once again, dispense.