Edgar Allan Poe

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My dear Edgar, where have I gone, From our kingdom by the sea? What was always you and I  Has become only me.  The chill of the air, And the salt of the sea, Has enveloped your dear Annabel Lee
You may look at me, But why do you stare? Have I grown two heads, Does this cause you despair? Did some wings just sprout upon my back? Do I look to be crazed, like I'm going to attack?  
There is passion behind every word you speak, Words are not minced, touches the same, No calculation or hesitation, Just you. Yet you are not concise by any means,
Mysterious, Unusual, and Now Known. T'was Dark and Morbid With No Mercy Shown. Poor, Poor, Poe. Found in A Gutter Outside A Bar.
When you see me reaching down, With a needful talon in clear distress, Today my talents seem faint, so impotent, From my beak croaks a mournful sound.   In the garden you'll find this raven,
With my dear friend Dodgson I will have tea After which, to Poe I will go see   For only after I see these two Will my mind start working
From childhood’s hour I was not the same As others were; I did not play games
That dark cold night, the rain did splatter on the dim windows, 'pitter-patter.' The creaky old cabin 'neath the willows groans and moans and wobbles and billows.   What there is to say haunts to the core
The words flow from my heart And into my revolving conscious Where at the jot of a pen they part, And with revision, I am cautious.   Poetry is me, And I am poetry.  
So many a year has passed,             In this kingdom by the sea. From which the so-called angels             Tore my love, my life from me. And here I lie, in my sepulchre
Perching on rocks in the mountains, Looking over the people below. Watching, waiting With the keys in his mouth. The keys to the underworld. Ravens watch for souls to come by.
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