On a lazy midnight, while I sat and pondered Nietshe, and Homer, flipping through their massive forgotten volumes, and reading it in total silence, I began to nod my head, on the brink of precious sleep, when someone started knocking on my massive oak chamber door. I glanced at it’s massive boards and I muttered “A visitor, tapping at my chamber door? At this hour?” Fear sent it’s tendrils through me in the way it does to make you tense. But I soon convinced myself “It’s some visitor, only this, and nothing more.” The memory is burned in the chasms of my mind, every tiny detail, sealed within me forever. The December was bleak, plain, and white, and the wooden logs laid their gentle shadows on the floor. My books had come up short on their purpose, for they did not remove my sorrow for my angel love Lenore.
The purple curtains mourned her with me, but their dance did not follow the wind, so I repeated “Just some visitor knocking on my door, that is all, there is no more.” I focused and let my resolve strengthen, and I called out, as I walked toward the door. “Sir or Madam, I beg your forgiveness, and I’m sorry, but I was napping, and you started knocking so gently on my door that I wasn’t sure I heard you, but now I’m sure, so I implore your forgivness, and invite you in.” I opened the door wide, and saw I spoke only to the wind, as it whipped gently through the arch way, snow flurrying in. I stared into the darkness, ignoring the cold, and I began to think dark thoughts that no one had the strength to fear before. “Lenore?” I echoed, in insanity, surely she had gone.
An echo cried back “Lenore!” I waited, praying for my love, but only the gentle echo of my mind, begging for Lenore.
I turned around and shut the door, fear growing to the point of pain within my chest, but soon I heard the tapping again, so much louder than before that my fear was forgotten. “Surely… Surely, that is something at my window screen, I will hold in my fear for a moment, so I might learn what this is.”
I quickly pushed the shutter open in despair. A raven flung his wings and chirped in through the door. I had a statue of Pallas just above my door, and he sat like a king upon it, hovering above my door. In hysteria I smiled, seeing what it was I feared, I decided to call to him, to make the joke all the better. “You look so noble and great, clearly you are no bird of an alley, but of a king. Tell me what your lordly name is on this blackest night. And the Raven said “Nevermore.”
I marveled in fear to hear a simple fowl speak a true word, though it was nonsensical, for no one can deny that none had ever seen a bird named “Nevermore”, much less one perched on a bust of Pallas!
“All birds fly, so in the morning you will leave me, and cease pouring out your soul in such insanity.” As if my words where a query, quoth the raven “Nevermore.” I was startled for a moment, but quickly decided he was merely a bird who had taken a song from some unhappy master. What a song, “Nevermore”! I smiled at the absurdity of my fear, and sat down in my velvet chair. But the way he said it scared me, as if it bore some meaning so my mind began to question what he meant by “Nevermore”. I tried to guess, but the fowl’s eyes burned into my chest, lighting up like flames. The lamplight flashed over him, and fear fluttered through me, fear of no insanity, but of true danger.
“WRETCH!” I yelled at it. “Your God has given you, by his angels he has given you evil! Evil with my precious memories of Lenore. Forget my lost Lenore, let her rest!”
“Dark Prophet! Thing of evil! You are a prophet, if you are a bird or devil, if God himself sent you, or a massive storm drew you from the deep and cast you on the shore, your dark magic is nothing, it gives me only desert, you try to make me empty in me grief for Lenore! But you are still a prophet, so please tell me, does Lenore live in Gilead?”
“By the Lord God that bends us, please tell my soul so this sorrow might leave, in Aidenn can I clasp the beautiful Lenore?”
“That word is how I leave you, get out of my house! Fly back into your tempest, or die on your Pagan shore! I don’t ever want to sure your shadow damning my bust of Pallas, get out of my house forever!”
The Raven has not moved, not so much as chirped, he still sits on my bust of Pallas, just above the door, and his eyes have all the shadenfruede of a demon, and his shadow is burnt in my mind, and dances on the floor.
My soul in pinioned beneath his shadow. I can lift it nevermore.