EPTThe silent judge, the fettered beast
Of heavy claw and iron tusk
Watched all in dark as action ceased:
A soul clad black, with whitewashed eyes;
A cry betrays his sad demise
And breaks a calm and composed guise;
A cry of “Nevermore.”
A soul bereaves a conquered sun
A fallen light, a darkness, won,
A sky with radiance undone;
Despair knocks at his door.
A bloodless lip and dreary eye
Turn up to face a moonless sky
And heave a sad and sullen sigh
They watch the world askew.
What torments try this morbid thing?
Entreat his warped and wretched being;
The twilight larks refuse to sing;
The morning shan’t renew.
What sorrows will the morrow bring?
A coup d'état; a murdered king;
A snowy dove with broken wing;
This soul is vain to tell.
What knowledge does this poor soul hold?
Of future stories yet untold;
Of horrors bound to soon unfold;
A smallest glimpse of hell?
Clouded eyes, devoid of life
Reflect a bitter inner strife;
A soul thus hewn by sword and knife
Lies severed, smote in twain.
A calm repose, a brief respite
He supplicates with all his might
But silence breaks his will to fight
As fever wracks his brain.
A soothing balm cannot amend
What potent prayers doth portend;
Neglect reflects a somber end;
A God averts his eyes.
He looks afar, his future bleak
This cursed specter can not speak
For with the morrow’s morning peak
The sun will fade and die.
College applications make me sad
