“No strings attached”
said the flute to the violin

“Nothing to pick on”
said the piano to the harp

“Nothing to fret about “
said the drum to the guitar

“Nothing to dance about”
said the minstrel to the musician

father  said
you should
only dream
with open eyes
to see clearly
the rays of lies
dreams are only
made for sleep
not for day
nor light to seek
keep your dreams
beside your bed
and a candle lit
inside your head
keep it there
and keep it where
vision withers
for  no light
redeems or
day delivers
your dreams
once your dead

Edgar Alan Poe is dead. Seriously, I read it.
He died in October 1849 - or did he?
Do we really know?

Poe wrote about death a lot,
he teased with it, it was his favorite tool.
He kept death close and twisted it like a knife.

His profession was the macabre, the shadow,
the summoned dread and the gruesome aftermath.

He was a writer and a critic - what’s more dreadful than a critic?

They say he died from “unknown causes”
- how absolutely perfect.