Whispered Wanderings

after Edgar Allan Poe, from ‘The Sleeper’

It was the dead who groaned within.
Who, when they lived, had voices echoing forth
into the night: careening darkly,
mercilessly, between towering canyon walls.
Eerily seeking, forever seeking.
Terrifying in their innocent need as they call me.

Yes, they call me to their moss-covered tombs,
voices now a harmony of woeful song
driven deep into the night, deep into the night.
Moon cannot withstand this depth, so with a lonely sigh
turns off Sun’s reflection and darkness, darkness moves,
slithers unhurriedly down: a dismal blanket upon the Earth.

klm
5/18/24

[Using this prompt yet again: “to write a poem that begins with a line from another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it.” (I’m depressing myself, though, so had to stop here for now.)]