Sonya Annita Song
Once I was a raven slacking, when I thought that I’d go thwacking,
Beholden to a long-forgotten promise I could not ignore.
Soon I heard a distant mumbling of somebody softly grumbling
That someone outside was tumbling, tumbling on his treacherous door.
I thought it strange the words he spoke, grumbling ’bout his treacherous door -
But still I thought, I would implore.
It was in the dead of winter and I had just got a splinter,
Knocking in the shadow of the dreams that had come once before.
Wistfully, I longed for summer, but instead I played a drummer,
Drumming as the newest comer, comer that sought to implore
For the days of gold and amber that I lost but still adore -
Days I lost but still adore.
How the whistling wind was whipping frozen feathers, boldly nipping,
Chilled me – willed me with an urge so strong it shook me to the core.
Thus insisting, I kept thwacking, manners though seemed to be lacking
As somebody kept on yakking and would not open the door -
A foolish someone kept on yakking and would not open the door -
A window then I would explore.
It opened with a zealous blow; a face from summers long ago
Was staring wildly at me like he’d never seen me once before.
I proudly stepped into the room and found myself inside a tomb;
The living dead here seemed to bloom unhappily above the door.
I sat myself beside a ghost, a frozen breath, above the door,
And then I quoted, “Nevermore”.
The only word my lady left me when she faded, weeping gently,
Asking me to send it for her to the one beyond this door;
But madness lurked behind these eyes, accusing me of willful lies,
He filled the room with all his cries of a lady named Lenore;
But this was not her name, my lady, oh how cruel to call Lenore -
My lady waits now nevermore.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Nevermore by Sonya Annita Song )
- The Elf, Harold R Hunt Sr
- One Game, Naveed Akram
- Soothing dawn, Tiku akp
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- Song of Farewell, Leslie Philibert
- A question..., ging taping
- synthesis of civilization., Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- Declaiming Waters none may dread, Emily Dickinson
- I love the way you live in the silence, Cyndi K. Gacosta
- Translating an ancient artifact for the .., Cyndi K. Gacosta
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