Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotton lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As if someone were gently rapping, rapping at my chamber choir,
“Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.”
Mr. Poe, please leave me alone
A plethora of poets
Presently ramble and roam;
Pleasantly peculiar, with
No particular place to go
Ranting and raving their ravenous poems
My ghastly guest, please, my regrets – I am unable to greet you -
Though I would rather receive you, request and welcome your lore;
I implore you should leave soon – of course, you can’t truly believe you
To be the one and only soul sneaking through my bedroom door;
Celebrated, belated; meandering through my bedroom door
Dozens here, and sometimes more.
Hundreds or more, come to find me, so to see I don’t seek blindly
Dreamful destinations that divide me at my conscience’ core;
Eagerly I welcome Guidance, Oddly though, equate Defiance,
Skeptically afraid of reliance on Science’ bordered course -
Afraid of our reliance on understanding’s mortal course -
A skeptic still, without remorse
And surely ’tis no surprise to you, who chose to shine the way you do -
Telling-tales that glance into the darkness at the chilling core;
That those to come before you, too, surely had therefore forewarned you,
Through their verses and virtue; adorned you with this vicious chore -
With their rhyme and reason robed you with this rigid chore -
It is yours, forevermore!
But I, Needing now less than before, the subjects of my grades’ reports-
My apologies if I must ignore the shadows at my chamber door
I must find my own voice and it will be by choice that I bear this heavy chore
My teacher do forgive me if I am preaching to the choir -
With grave and stern decorum I speak most humbly to the choir -
Speak I will, still listen more -
The task is ours, forevermore!
- MIC THA POET
