In the darkest of our valleys
By dark angels demented,
‘Twas once a regal temple -
Serene spring - tauntingly tormented.
A Queen in her Domain,
It stood there!
Under Lock and Chain;
A maiden so fair!
Lavender curtains laden;
On this Temple may flow
Along the Times of this Maiden -
In the ****** snow.
And every gentle air in that field,
Of Doomsday,
From the Black Rose’s shield -
Their aroma passed away.
Witnessing this Ominous blolly;
Through luminous windows -
Spirits sing in melancholy,
In the malicious meadows.
Upon this throne I bore;
A tintinnabulation of air -
Befitting glory’s chore,
Of this realm’s affair.
With many a jewel gleaming,
Against the Temple door -
The River’s light came beaming,
Sparkling for evermore.
A troop of Angels; on their duty,
At my doorbell, sing -
For the Silent beauty,
Who burdens the King.
Then, the Reaper came,
Along the Temple’s River -
For the distressed dame;
And the sorrows within her quiver.
Above this temple of glory,
Sagacious scenes bloomed -
Of the maiden’s story,
The clergy that loomed.
Now; Within that valley -
Through the reddened windows see,
Figures dancing delicately;
To her disbanded melody.
The river - now a pale white,
Is her decor,
Night’s sweetest silent fright -
And flows - Nevermore.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC
In the darkest of our valleys
By dark angels demented,
‘Twas once a regal temple -
Serene spring - tauntingly tormented.
A Queen in her Domain,
It stood there!
Under Lock and Chain;
A maiden so fair!
Lavender curtains laden;
On this Temple may flow
Along the Times of this Maiden -
In the ****** snow.
And every gentle air in that field,
Of Doomsday,
From the Black Rose’s shield -
Their aroma passed away.
Witnessing this Ominous blolly;
Through luminous windows -
Spirits sing in melancholy,
In the malicious meadows.
Upon this throne I bore;
A tintinnabulation of air -
Befitting glory’s chore,
Of this realm’s affair.
With many a jewel gleaming,
Against the Temple door -
The River’s light came beaming,
Sparkling for evermore.
A troop of Angels; on their duty,
At my doorbell, sing -
For the Silent beauty,
Who burdens the King.
Then, the Reaper came,
Along the Temple’s River -
For the distressed dame;
And the sorrows within her quiver.
Above this temple of glory,
Sagacious scenes bloomed -
Of the maiden’s story,
The clergy that loomed.
Now; Within that valley -
Through the reddened windows see,
Figures dancing delicately;
To her disbanded melody.
The river - now a pale white,
Is her decor,
Night’s sweetest silent fright -
And flows - Nevermore.
This is based on "The Haunted Palace" by Edgar Allan Poe, although Poe told the story of a king who eventually met his demise, his castle eventually becoming haunted by the phantoms of his family.
Instead, I told the story of a woman who locked herself away from society - and speaks of how the outside world seems to her.
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