The Purple Curtain: Ode To Lenore Poem by Ryan John Payne

The sad, uncertain rustling never before caught my attention -
I always thought that purple curtain-an ascertained intention-
Was only Poe's vivid fragmentation and a histrionic invention.
His ascension into a bleak December made me soon remember
His acquiescence to many a quintessentially glowering ember,
Though I had never known Lenore.

I had no bust of Pallas or a raven perched with an omen of malice,
And I never had a silken purple curtain upon which, with a chalice,
I could pontificate as nonchalantly as the Cheshire cat did to Alice.
But I hastened and chastened myself, not hearing a knock or boom,
Yet rustlings of silken drapes proclaim no impending doom or gloom,
Since I had never known Lenore.

Inclined to envision relentless December, the raven hauntedly chants:
His intrigue he instills and implants-yet I open the drapes and I dance,
While sun dust shimmers and glimmers of Poe's purple curtain enchants.
Still, I pondered the poet's pathological obsession for his lady love Lenore.
With wondrous awe I wondered, 'Was she knocking at his chamber door? '
Quoth the raven, 'Forevermore.'