Which of my people spoke of the lonely forest
For I the poet too feel empty and cold like a grave
I believe we mourn our dead like death is evil
But they fear strange unknown darkness
Some howl silent melancholy thunder from soul pain
Always between alone, lost, or confusion
Face this earth alone and walk by light young spirit
Echo nevermore with every dark gray storm
No man shrouds his heart come crypt
You are who was there unseen as skin is made though it is bone
Shudder shiver cry be as pale dread
Scream bitter truth whisper about a broken imagination
White raven how he did hide in cover of a black shadow
Through dusk and fly at dawn
He leaves in my crepuscular half dream
I see him here more often now so fill my mystery midnight
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 11:01 AM UTC
Which of my people spoke of the lonely forest
For I the poet too feel empty and cold like a grave
I believe we mourn our dead like death is evil
But they fear strange unknown darkness
Some howl silent melancholy thunder from soul pain
Always between alone, lost, or confusion
Face this earth alone and walk by light young spirit
Echo nevermore with every dark gray storm
No man shrouds his heart come crypt
You are who was there unseen as skin is made though it is bone
Shudder shiver cry be as pale dread
Scream bitter truth whisper about a broken imagination
White raven how he did hide in cover of a black shadow
Through dusk and fly at dawn
He leaves in my crepuscular half dream
I see him here more often now so fill my mystery midnight
Edgar Allen Poe fridge magnet words
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