As the wind rushes by the trees,
The birds go chirping, buzz go the bees,
And the salty air lingers by the seas.

Though I yearn to touch the sun,
And wish to have some fun,
I am trapped and cannot run.

Run from darkness I desire,
But I'm already consumed by this deadly fire,
And am trapped in my room like a flat tire.

The doors are wide open an no chains hold me in place,
But I'm just tired of running this way-too-long race,
And I no longer want to face,
This "wonderful" world of greed and no grace.

Trapped I am and trapped I'll stay,
For the world refuses to change its ways,
And I can't handle anymore false rays,
Plus I can't do anything to help anyways.

You think I'm a weird kid,
The kid who always says hi,
The person who'll treat u like a friend,
Even when u say goodbye.

You think I'm the athletic one,
With energy bursting through my veins,
The kid who actually likes gym,
Who'll feel no pains.

You think I'm the smart kid,
Who loves school so much,
The person who can't wait to study again,
Just because I get good grades and such.

You think I'm the artsy one,
Who draws all day long,
Who can write long stories,
And turn anything into a song.

Well, you think you know,
But I know you don't you see.
Because I'm not any of these,
All of them are me.

You judge by my clothes,
You judge by my style,
You judge by my achievements,
And by my smile.

So I trick you each and everyday.
Wearing these masks in every way,
So the true me you will never betray,
And yet you say you know me-cliché

SS
A tortured writer once there was
who toiled into the night
Locked in his lofty chamber
where stories could take flight.

'Twas a dark October evening
a moonless night and dreary
Tho ink was filled
no words would spill
He soon became quite weary.

The writer threw his quill away
and muttered with a sigh,
"No more midnight oil for me
the end of the wick is nigh."

Frustration with the flow of ink
had almost made him weep
Tho *** was full
His wits were dull
And so he went to sleep.

When next he woke
he found himself
Upon a stormy sea
'Twas black as pitch
The likes of which
He ne'er before had seen!

The sky was red and purple
There was a hellish wail!
A ghostly gleam
Glanced from the beam
And gibbered in the sails.

What is this apperition?
He cried unto the wind
Where am I sent?
I must repent!
My sins you must recind!

Ah, NO! Thus spake
The loathsome ghoul,
It is too late for you!
You know full well
That you're in hell
Your options are now few!

Her words sliced through
the lashing gale
And chilled him to the bone
For gazing 'round the
Phantom ship
He found he was alone.

TSP
Forsooth! bellowed
the tortured bard
For now I know your scheme!
Here's the switch
You foul old witch
This is but a dream!

You see this sand
Within my hand,
Which through my fingers creeps?
This is but illusion
And I am just asleep!

The banshee shrieked
And squeeled with glee!
She danced upon the deck!
That is true, but now for you
This is a shipwreck!

She spread her arms and chanted
The seas began to boil!
Double double
Cauldron bubble
Trouble for your toil!

SS
The red wind howled
Like a pack of wolves
O'r an ocean black as tar
His heart froze
As waters rose
'Neith a sky which had no stars.

TSP
Against this sea of troubles now
There's nothing I can do,
But in this dream
Perhaps is seen
An end to what flesh is heir to.

SS
The witch regarded him with hate
Let me assist! She roared
And swooping down
In devil's gown
She pushed him overboard!

He flailed about as he did drop
And couldn't even think!
She crowed with glee
For he could not see!
The ocean was of INK!!!

As he sank, his fear was rank,
Within those oily waves.
His voice was caught
But then he thought
This will not be my grave!

He asked for hell or heaven
To rescue him away
He escaped death
With his last breath
He began to PRAY,

Then sweet arms
wrapped 'round him
'Twas an angel! She did cry,
Hold on tight, and do not fight,
For we are going to FLY!!!

Out of the mirey ocean
She lifted him on high
The furious witch
Howled and pitched
Herself into the sky!

For a while she followed
Spouting curses as she flew,
But the angel's wings
Did soar and sing
There was naught
the ghoul could do.

And so the thankful writer
Got a brand new start
And so he plucked a feather
From the angel wing's soft heart.

Thus ends the epic ballad
Of POE. One Edgar A.
His legendary writing
Admired to this day.

Now at his will an angel's quill
To inspire him to write
For though he wrote of darkness
From ink as black as night.

He was an inspiration
For who could truly tell?
Annabel's love.
From heav'n above?
Or from the pits of HELL