A Toast to Edgar Allan Poe

The Poe "Toaster" seems to have abandoned his yearly trek to Poe's gravesite where he left cognac and roses in Poe's honor. He has not appeared in three years and the traditional vigil for the anonymous man (usually dressed in black and wearing a white scarf) has officially ended with the passing of this year's anniversary.

This writer will carry on the tradition in her own way, as she feels a definite kinship with the man whose brilliant work was tinged with the darkness of his psyche.

Cognac and a Rose

Raise a glass to the master of macabre,

The mentor of my soul's lone ambition.

I would aspire to grasp the master's mind,

Deign understand the darkness and despair

That fueled his genius, drove his life's desire

To yield to fame and fortune, yet found him locked

In penury, his happiness but fleeting moments—

As fleeting as the loves that spurred his passions.

I would know the heavy darkness in his heart, ambitions unfulfilled,

The oh-so-short lifetime drenched in the wretched balm

That gives neither solace nor surcease.

Pluck a rose, a heady, deep purple promise of perfection

Shrouded 'round by mocking pricks and tears of undeserved denial.

I will crush it to my heart, wherein a darkness as his own abides.

I will dream a dream within a dream and see it be as life

And hope against the ravages of time that I may yet glimpse

The silver shimmer of wings gird about a being bathed

In light so bright, I am blinded to reality.

But I will venture, a life lived in vain,

And shadow more than substance, be my lot.

My plight shared with the master to whom I cling,

I raise this murky glass and crush this pricking rose,

Seize my ink-filled pen and pour my soul upon this page,

That at least my words might exist as long as breath

Shall be exchanged upon this stage.