Death Poem, Again
A poem inspired by Poe’s “Ulalume”
The cacophony of their chatter
Comforts me;
Strange, as it’s never in tune —
But it balances out the McPlatter:
The buffet from a lifetime of wounds.
And she thought it was only the chatter,
Faded well by the gentlest loon —
Then she felt it was lame as the latter,
As she sighed toward the rays of the moon;
O, she sighed toward the rays of the moon —
And looked onward with infinite doom.
For she lied like the lady likes flattery,
Like she did once we swept through the room.
And she hid as the gent was a tyrant;
Filled illogical games in the room.
Only cringe worthy lives bid adieu —
Swept the blackness of soul with a broom.
Come the dreaming dames of St. Bloom —
O, they faded sub-bass to a whisper,
As they wept in the rays of the moon.
O, they sobbed in the pus of the blister —
As they tended their infinite wounds.
Here we thought not twice of redemption,
In the sweet, O, the sweetest of June.
Is upcoming next year like a twister;
Heading fast to our up-sided tomb —
Digging fast to our degraded tomb.
What a dime that we spent on the sisters,
The sweet cash from a lifetime of feuds.
What a dash when we rose from existence —
From the dark-sided light of St. Bloom.
O, the secrets, the secrets in womb,
Cradled close like a baby of boom;
Cradled most like the lady she would —
Expel sighs toward the face of the moon.
And I rose, then I rose from existence;
Excavated by dreams lay therein;
And we lost, since we lost the race there,
As I climbed from my tomb toward the air —
For I died as he centered me there,
Like a gentle sweet touch couldn’t bear:
Exchange souls for a coin wouldn’t dare.
So I nestled, I nestled with care.
Lingering on proven grounds sacred air;
For I hovered, I hovered up there —
With both arms reaching high from a mare.
Then we rode, so we rode up the stairs,
Some odd spirit of dreams led me there.
And I spiraled, I spiraled with flair —
Toward the heavens up-winding affair.
Well I made it; I made up my share
From the coins that the moon dared to spare.
Here the gates were faded like pale,
Pale ash from the scabs hidden fair;
From the wounds that first led me there —
I inherited tears from an heir.
Come the ghost granting access with prayer;
O, what guidance, ill-guidance led here?
To the places my heart ne’er tell.
But I cradled, I nestled up there;
Like some ill-fated crowned debonairness.
Should’ve once asked a stranger for fare
Then forego selling souls to the death list.
But, my pride, my pride was my crux:
So I carried the weight of the stars,
Toward some plane of alter-existence,
Nestled high in the bosom of farce;
Cradled up in the wings of a goddess,
Up the river which led to the stars.
O, what demon bamboozled me here?
And traded my soul on a Square,
Her Capital Concessionaire.
Call the Piper, it’s time to cash-out.
The bond between man and beast
Sold out.
Not reincarnation-but ultra divination:
Her precious memory is just a cryptic
Relic; forgotten by the plague,
Then swept under a cloud;
Our self-declared landslide
Still idly hangs disavowed.
© Dutchess Imprada 2021
