Whispered Wanderings

After Edgar Allan Poe “To —-”

Alas, I cannot feel; for ‘tis not feeling
that consumes each living fiber of my soul.
No: something densely heavy and profound,
with meaning that escapes my beating heart.
That cast a spell on me so long ago,
from pages stained and worn in some old book:
a grimoire from another age and time,
that lay forgotten; waiting, sans remorse.
My mind, now cursed to wander aimlessly
inside its cage constructed of what if’s,
feels lost and altogether without hope.

This elegy I write to who I was:
because I know not yet who I shall be.

klm
7/15/24