Supernatural Poetry posted November 19, 2013

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She came to me last night...

~Lenore Revisited~

by Dean Kuch


~Lenore, Revisited~


O'er satin veil, silk horizon's mists, he sat there, unabashed—

whilst light seeped in, yon sunlight kissed black eyes, so darkly vast.

Awakening from slumber deep, fighting back an urge to bolt,

that he'd eyed me whilst immersed in sleep–– gave me quite a jolt!


“Oh raven, no Lenore lies here, she's now no more than dust...”

Yet, he looked on, fearing not, t'was as if my voice, he didst not trust.

“Away, you wretched creature– go– now join the vaunted murder!

I've nothing for you anyhow, I'll put up with you no further.”


“Oh, harbinger of sorrow, your presence darkens up my room.

Begone—do not return the morrow– you fill my life with gloom.”

Tho' Raven never wavered, I could only help but wonder,

my misery, does he savour, as he rends my world asunder?

Its eyes—an ebony onyx, deep— rolled back into his head.

Making no sound, nary a peep, he flew down upon my bed.

“Why do you torment me so, I'm just a man, and nothing more,

I know your creed now, please, just go!"—when, from my grasp, he tore—


A parchment, crumpled, in quivering hand, grasped betwixt my fist,

written whilst I slumbered, as my quill the sandman surely kissed.

Lenore, Revisited was all it said, then the raven turned to go,

taking flight atop my cozy bed, he cawed a note—so low.


“Nevermore”...I swore he'd cried, as I arose from off my bed.

When, on yon windowsill I spied, so shrivelled, dried and dead...

a single black rose, near turned to dust, fresh dirt upon the floor,

my senses froze, for scrawled in dirt was the single word... “Lenore”

dripping blood photo: Black rose dripping blood Black_Rose_Dripping_Blood_GIF.gif




I read way too much poetry now, thanks to Fan Story. Last night, I'd fallen asleep as I was rereading and studying the intricate structures of Edgar Allen Poe's classic poem, "The Raven", I'd had a dream, a dream which remained vividly ingrained in my brain, as I awoke with a start at 4:45 am....Lenore, tattered and dirty, covered in fresh dirt from the grave, came through my window holding a single black rose. How I knew it to be the Lenore, the subject of Poe's desire in the poem, I am not sure. However, I did know this, and it terrified me. She spoke/whispered just one word to me, and I gather from the poem you've just so graciously read, you now know what that word was, and that it affected me deeply.

Please, don't make me repeat it...

Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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