A Scarecrow's Puppet
On the quietest of nights you cause a scream,
that delves ever deeper within my dreams,
attaching your strings,
of the horror you bring.
You have your hold on me,
making me choose carefully,
but every decision I seem to make,
has left me drowning in a dark lake.
I try and try to break free,
to no avail, you just laugh at me,
upon your pole you hang and play,
unfolding a thespian from the words you say.
But far off in the clouds dark,
the sound of scissors, be still and hark!
The one who will set me free,
is the one who makes you hang and plea.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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