Paltry Poe-ish Poem (or The Writer’s Choice in Darkness)

In the darkness of the hollow,
In the wistful of the day,
Comes a gnashing of the Daemon
And the trouncing of the Bay.

Leaves a mark upon the features;
Plants a hook into the soul.
Wants for loathing or self-hatred -
Wants for wrecking of the lull.

Choose the sinews of the monster -
Horse of death, devoid of light.
If you mount its mangy hackles
It will drag you into night.

Little solitude can linger
At a time depression fraught.
Either gallops gloom of gloaming
Or a crafty concept caught. 

Makes for drowsy or for writing.
Curl it in or fight it out:
Tender tears to taint and tarnish,
Fiendish fierceness flail and flout.

Choose the dark and dangerous Daemon - 
Vapor’s Muse of shadow’s glare.
Touch its fissured flesh of genius,
Share its mind, but have a care.

Whirling skirmish with a dark muse.
Wrestling pen, now paper stained.
Bleeds a vicious prose or poem;
Heals the heart and mind, once pained.
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4 thoughts on “Paltry Poe-ish Poem (or The Writer’s Choice in Darkness)

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