The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still…
~Spirits of the Dead; Edgar Allan Poe
Upon such terrors that haunt thy endeavours
The whispers that appear evanescent forever
For the pendulum that struck the beating heart
Of the pit in the tomb that dares to intend a part
Where does thy mind lie upon the whereabouts
Of clean sanity and conscience driven by doubt?
Nightmares that proceed to take turns every night
A magnanimous beast that thou have yet to fight
The foe with eyes that glint sharply upon thy trysts
In a labyrinthine path lies a gorgon after every twist
Steel thy nerves, freeze thy blood, pray to thy angels
That heaven mayn’t bless parlance on a chasmic well
And if you defeat and crush the blade upon your heel
Might such a fair victory alleviate the terrorising feel?
Shall those nights of shadows be buried in sarcophagus
Or is the grave far too shallow to emancipate the rebus?
So be wary of the ancient fright intertwining coldly in thy bones
Thus such a scare is undeniable, chiseled on cracked headstones
For upon the nevermore terrors that haunt thy fallible endeavour
The grim whispers turned to gruesome horrors shall abide forever.