Afraid! Of whom am I afraid?
The brave; their sacrificial grave.
Who drag, beneath our native skies?
A chain with links of leader’s lies.
What counsel has the hooded moon?
To hide, to hide, our silver spoons.
Where art thou Muse that thou forget’st so long?
In mine heart, in blackened cells of lovers lost.
‘O Earth, O Earth, return!
Let roses rise from ashes burned.
And finally, Poe ponders,
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
And finally, I pen,
In darkest sleep we dream of dreams
Of living free of dreams in beams
But in the light of see and seem
A dream still sleeps within a dream.
A conversation with the dead.