Ceaselessly wandering
through the abode wherein I expired.
Begrudging the multitude of indwellers
altering incessantly with the passage of years.
Disconsolate, beholding their lives—idle—
Squandered.
Begirt—
yet unto all eternity forlorn,
Yowling, beseeching, I bellow—
And yet e’er but—
Inefficaciously falling upon deaf ears—
Futile endeavors to glean recognition.
With a covetous heart—
Beating madly in its solitude—
Beseeching one to plight their troth
Immemorially unto a spectral counterpart…
With a languishing heart, evermore—
Alas, I am but a doleful incorporeality,
Perpetually frozen in perdition;
A weary soul unsuccoured—
Forbidden the very conceivability of quietude—
Condemned unto the illimitable compass of solitude.
I fain would ascend this plane,
Could I but claim my druthers.
My disregarded existence—
A dreary banality,
Whenceforth, I languish to plunge
Unto the obscure.
Thereunto ever I drift—
A desolate spectre,
Bereft of solace—
Accursed to pilgrimage—
A restless mockery of life.
I am but a weeping spectre, evermore—
Evermore, evermore—
Am I but a ghost who weeps.
For this poem, I wanted to challenge myself by writing in a style reminiscent of Poe himself. It took a fair amount of research to capture the linguistic tone of the 1800s, as I wanted the poem to read as though it had truly been written during that era.
Hi,
You researched so much to get the style. Great poem. I constantly encourage people who put lot of efforts.
Jessy Jacob