E.A Poe
Edgar Allan Poe


Allow me write, inscribe peachy words under your sublime name,

Made it my vocation, to preserve a special seat for you, in the hall of fame,

A reputable name forever on our thin lips at the mention of literature, or poet,

Wish I could have written this earlier, single thing I so much and in agony regret.

I want to express what’s deep within me,

Let me share with all, how a treasure you be,

Permit me prove how noble I think you are to him,

and her, who intensely feel your works.

In my heart your poems produce sparks,

Allow me share this, I beseech thee,

I wanna pen down an ode, to you, if you let me.

My tiny fingers are itchy,

pages of my book are sticky,

My itchy fingers want to jot down something, some plaudits,


 Your reverential poems leave me breathless with admiration.

As darkness creeps in, and I don’t wanna be seen,

I pick my lantern lamp, and shut my door tight,

Mosquitoes which keep me company do bite,

The curtains I draw, I need no interference, no ruckus,

As I dig in the Gothic world, I need my environment quiet as death.

To sing chants in the highest tone all day, I can use my breath.


 Back in school, with merriment, I’d cheer your name, the oeuvres,

From your very debut poem, to that tale you penned in your final years,

Nothing beats what your hands put in writing,

Your notable works; Edgar Allan Poe, have planted something deep within me,

 “Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words”

A catchphrase associated with you, so precise, so accurate, so real,

As I lift my head high like a proud peacock, and raise my heel,

Absence of your words leave my soul and spirit darkened,

As I flip torn pages reading you, I’m glad you happened,

That I have someone whose works I exalt and look up to,

I wish to conclude at this juncture, credit where it’s due,

Acclamations from this side of the globe, props from me.