14. Phantasmagoria
(Double Couplets / Sonnets)

Part 1. Innocence

Last night, with many cares and toils oppress'd
Weary, I laid me on a couch to rest—

—Edgar Allen Poe,
"Poetry"

1

This world of lies would have outsiders thinking
My world of deep reflection's just a shrinking
   Of wits into the confines of phantasms,
   Mere figments of my weird enthusiasms!

But these are not the ravings of a madman,
Nor are they tricks of some inventive con man,
   Nor are these lines confabulated rhymes
   Concealing all the tracks of fancied crimes.

Visions there are, although they're not my own;
And lunacy, although it lurks unknown
   To scientific minds of great invention—
   Unknown because they give it no attention.

These moving shadows do exist, believe me,
Although the skeptic's sure to disbelieve me;
   Our human eyes are just a pair of lenses,
   The most restricted of our earthly senses.

There's more beyond the spectrum of apparent
Colors depicting all the hues inherent
   In everything we see inside the veil;
   Beyond it lies a world of boundless scale.

2

Tonight, with many cares and toils oppressing,
I lay me on a couch for decompressing
   My worries of today and of the morrow—
   Tonight, no need for trouble till tomorrow.

Upon the couch, into the cushions sinking,
Methinks I see the lights around me blinking,
    Blinking for want of electricity,
    A common want in this accursèd city!

As such, I cannot help but form a smile,
As if my state would have me still beguile
    My misery to shades of odious humor,
    In which my life lies tangled up in rumor.

Within this state, my thoughts would often wander;
I'm lying on the couch to rest and ponder,
   For Sleep's a woman that I yearn to clasp,
   Yet oft she slips beyond my mortal grasp.

I while the minutes by and close my eyes,
Awaiting sleep, my most elusive prize;
   The minutes pass, the father clock ticks on,
   Yet time and time again, I only yawn.

My world lies in the darkest shades of light,
Wherein I spend insomniac hours at night
   Wondering over ever-lovely you;
   In you, my thoughts and troubles still renew.

I cannot help but think of former days,
When you and I would while those summer rays
   By telling all our deepest darkest stories—
   By waxing nigh poetic on our glories.

I'd fall for all your grand conspiracies
Of lurking infamies and enemies;
   You'd be the persecuted heroine,
   And I would be the friend you'd shelter in.

And after supper in those twilight hours,
Or in the midst of summer's sudden showers,
   I'd ease your mind with eldritch tales of lore—
   Stories of goblins, ghosts and ghoulish folklore.

Within the well of both our lurking fears,
We'd bear our souls in whispers, giving ears
   To both our glories with our youthful might,
   You by afternoon, me by the edge of night.

We'd share the glorious fight, casting our spells
To bar the mundane horrors of our hells,
   Until that gentle Sleep enfolds us both
   Within the marriage of her soothing oath.

3

Slowly I ope my eyes and look around;
The walls of varnished paneling abound
   With shades and shadows staining my world in gloom—
   Staining each glimpse of you inside your tomb.

Oh, how I wish to be entombed right there
Beside your earthly form, so young and fair;
   My world of tales are nothing without you,
   You who would listen, so faithful and true.

Oh, how I wish to hear your charming voice,
In which my weary heart would then rejoice
   To hear your sweet conspiracies untold—
   To be your faithful ear, even when I'm old.

I'd fly to you as moths fly t'wards the light
Beneath our canopy of stars at night;
   I'd weave my spell of modern fairy tales,
   And you would dwell on all the eerie details.

To hear your charming voice after many years—
That alone shall be the honor of my tears,
   When I shall hear your eldritch whispers weave
   Your spell around me ere this life I leave.

And so begins the everlasting vigil,
In which I play my Dante, you your Vergil, *
   And I would follow you into the gloaming,
   Wherein my restless soul's forever roaming.

And so the father clock ticks on and on
Towards the endless march to ageless dawn;
   Go and I shall go, rise and I shall rise,
   And I shall follow you into the skies.

I'll follow on the whispers of the wind
And cherish all the tales you leave behind,
   Your siren songs of sweet conspiracies
   Sighing through the zephyrs of my memories.

I'll linger where you lie inside your tomb
And dream that deathless wake wherein the gloom
   Forever lies forgotten on the floor,
   Long after I escape the spectral door.

And when I close upon your sacred shade,
Wherein my miseries would slowly fade
   And disappear into excelsis gloria, **
   I'll linger on your shade's phantasmagoria! ***

4

And yet the father clock ticks on and on,
Dragging me from my thoughts of you whereon
   I start up off the couch and nearly scream;
   Ah, cursèd are these fleeting states of dream!

Upon that clock I fix a pensive glare,
And back upon myself the clock would stare,
   Stare and only stare with stupid nonchalance—
   Stare as the crowd would stare in their response.

And so I pick myself up off the couch,
Feeling my weary mind roll in the pouch
   That forms the temple of my weary brain;
   Ah, such unease seems ever my domain.

A sudden dizzy spell o'ertakes my poise,
Stuffing my ears to bleeding full of noise;
   I squint my eyes and clench down on my teeth,
   Till sound and dizzy spell would let me breathe.

I waver, my head reeling to and fro,
Until the nauseating overflow
   Subsides and leaves me weary on my feet,
   Leaving me barely standing in defeat.

Ere long I stand, I move my weary steps
And pace about until the reeling stops;
   My world reduces to the phantom throws
   Of many melancholy shades and shadows.

And in between these shades and shadows streak
The faintest wisps of light, and every squeak
   Of floorboard thrills me—fills me with alarm,
   With countless forms of otherworldly harm.

A darkness more than night steals through the room,
Enveloping my world within the tomb
   Of souls adrift on seas of circumstance,
   Waiting out their judgements for another chance.

I hear their voices wafting past my ears,
Whispering rumors deeper than my fears;
   And in the midst of such susurrant voices, ****
   I move my weary steps and choose my choices.

Either to turn my steps t'wards couch and cushion
And try to sleep away this vast confusion
   Of voices crowding up my mind with rumor,
   Or move my steps ahead in churlish humor.

Ah, humor—such a damnable emotion;
It wears the clothes of levity and motion,
   But only to deceive its witless wearer
   Into committing some egregious error.

I look behind, beholding still the couch,
On which I often in depression slouch
   My weary body in attempts to sleep,
   Perchance to dream and in my dreaming weep—

Weep for the loss of her eternal shade—
Weep for the loss of such a tempting maid—
   Weep for the loss of her conspiracies—
   Weep for the loss of such securities.

For life is but an empty space around me
Without her wondrous intrigues to surround me,
   And all my eldritch tales lie in suspension
   Upon the pageless tome of comprehension.

5

Into these thoughts, the father clock ticks on
The tune of yet another hour bygone,
   Breaking the ghastly spell of shade and shadow
   Like candles breaking through the afterglow.

A row of candelabra light the way
Into a hall of moving shadow-play,
   Moving to the flickers of each swaying candle—
   Ah, such a sight that only few could handle.

Into this moving shadow-play I steel
My nerves upon the threshold of true zeal,
   Striking my heels upon the creaking floorboards
   To scare what ghost or ghoul I come towards.

Yet in my heart, the thumping of each pulse
Reveals my tenuous courage to be false;
   A mere pretension stands in place of fear;
   A breath of doubt makes courage insincere!

And yet—by God—I tread on through the gloom
Of shifting shadow-play towards my doom!
   Her memory now follows on my right,
   Moving in shadows past the edge of sight.

She disappears just as I turn my head,
Mocking me as cruel immortals mock the dead,
   But lingers at the corners of my eyes
   Like phantom shadows lurking in disguise.

And so I tread beside this shade of death
And breathe her fumes with every fearful breath;
   My journey now becomes an odious show,
   Wherein dead tears flood up my eyes with woe,

For memories of you still shake my heart,
Serving to form the wellspring of my art,
   Writing these rhymes of blood on parchment dead—
   Writing these lines to catch the tears I shed.

My life is nothing without you to share it,
For living's but a yoke to those who bear it
   Alone, befriending only moving shadows
   That linger through their nightmares on their pillows.

Into the endless gloom of paths unknown
To those who've yet to sorrow and bemoan
   The passage of a love to shades of night,
   I make my vigil through the flickering light,

Losing all sense of time and space between;
The fog of memory becomes a screen
   To lead me on and yet obscure the way,
   An ever-shifting image of a fey *****

That leads me to the tomb of my lost love—
Lost to this world but not the world above.
   So must I tread, my thoughts a whirling haze,
   Searching for an exit through this restless craze

That whispers through the ancient lips of yore
The endless chant of "Never . . . Nevermore!"
   Such words (and more besides) fill up my skull
   With memories I cannot hope to quell!

A-flood with memories I can't unclog,
What's this I see beyond the restless fog?
   A door? Is this a new hallucination?
   What lies beyond this newest captivation?

I tread on closer to it now expecting
The door to vanish as I'm now suspecting,
   And yet it stays there resolute and strong;
   It never wavers as I walk along.

And so I tread towards the door in wonder,
Drifting along and seeing it get bigger,
   My hand now stretching out towards the knob
   To turn it as my heart begins to throb.

I drift and drift towards the tempting door;
I rest my hand upon the knob before
   The chance to 'scape this place might fade to nil,
   But then a stab of worry keeps me still.

I know not where it comes from, this queer qualm,
Yet something wrong now shakes my weary calm;
   Blotting the vile emotion from my thoughts,
   I ope the door ere I connect the dots. ******

Part 2. Adulteration

There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion.

—Edgar Allen Poe,
"Masque of the Red Death"

1

The father clock then greets my late arrival
By ticking off the time of festival,
   A time that stays a thorn upon my mind
   As one adrift on some disastrous wind.

I see the faces of my closest friends
Conversing on queer topics, odds and ends;
   What of these things I hardly can remember,
   As these remind me of that bleak December.

Ah, yes—the scene begins to take its shape
With cloudy hints of love beyond the drape
   Of memory, for I have yet to ask
   For her forgiveness on this evening's masque.

Leaving my friends at table, I pursue
My lover's mercy and our love renew;
   I stalk along the walls of dancing halls
   And search for her, the thrall of all my thralls.

I look around the sea of dancing masks
To spy my love, a daunting task of tasks,
   As masks of every lurid shape and style
   Fill all the dancing halls with aspects vile.

Yet all the strength of youth burns through my soul,
So that the prospect makes a sweeter goal;
   Through congregations of mad couples dancing,
   I search for her at every fervent glancing.

I'd thrill to find my sweet inamorata *******
Upon the staircase, balcony, veranda,
   Perchance to even faint upon the sight
   Of her, whom I'd elope with in the night.

I'd bear the deepest secrets of my soul
And bear up all her weaknesses, the role
   I know by heart since childhood days of yore;
   I'd fill her heart to brimming like before.

Yet looking on throughout the dancing halls,
Amidst the chattering hum against the walls,
   I raise my eyes towards the balcony
   And gain a glimpse of her, my absentee!

Before I call her name, she turns away;
I dash towards the stairs and up the way
   To meet her ere I lose her in her flight—
   I cannot bear to lose her love tonight!

Cresting atop the staircase, I lose my chance
To see her go with yet another glance;
   Turning to other couples, I now ask,
   "Have you seen the lady with the silver mask?"

And one by one and two by two, I ask
About her whereabouts, a frantic task
   That leads me in diverse directions thither,
   Leading me on to where I know not whither.

And yet I ask and search and ask and search,
Until I lose my way and start to lurch
   About, meandering along the ways
   They point in jest through obscure passageways.

And so I wander through obscurer hallways,
Thinking that I would stay forsaken always,
   Hiding from all my friends to hide my tears—
   Hiding from everyone to hide my fears.

And so I wander like the wandering Jew,
Devoid of that companionship I knew
   When Love bestowed her graces on my head
   Before I lost her favor. Now I'm dead—

Dead to the world that still revolves around me—
Dead to the universe that still surrounds me—
   Dead to the love that I cannot go near—
   Dead to the love whose love I still hold dear.

For life is but an empty space around me
Without her wondrous intrigues to surround me,
   And all my eldritch tales lie in suspension
   Upon the pageless tome of comprehension.

2

A darkness more than night descends upon
My heart of hearts; the father clock ticks on
   The fatal tune of midnight through the air,
   As if the ghouls of night are treading there—

There on the blurry edges of penumbra ********
Before retreating back into the umbra *********
   Of utter darkness, on which shadows feed
   To sate a hunger of most urgent need—

There in a blink of truth and lingering doubt
Just beyond my mortal ken to spy it out,
   Concealing ghost or ghoul or djinn or goblin,
   Haunting my mind just like a haunted cabin—

There in this cesspool's cesspool of despair,
Where mind becomes an ocean full of air
   So rank with all these memories of you
   That rhyme can barely give these thoughts their due!

And so I tread into progressive shades
And shadows that resembles those of Hades;
   Alone am I, treading through empty halls
   With echoes that resound along the walls—

With ever-fleeting snatches of my name
Upon the sighing lips of my true flame,
   Forever reaching through the fog of time
   With broken melodies that breathe my crime . . .

For crime it was that stole across my eyes,
When I discovered all your vows were lies—
   When I espied you with your new-found lover,
   Sharing your vile conspiracies that hover

About my head in memories of you—
When by your lips you proved your vows untrue
   And thus defied me with that faithless kiss
   Shared with another man in whore-like bliss!

How much I burned—by God—how much I burned
To grab his head and have it grossly turned;
   How much I wished—by God—how much I wished
   To have your head lopped off and grossly squished

Slowly between the heavy iron presses,
Staining the walls as you have stained your dresses
   With all the sins that man enjoyed between
   Your slutty legs—outrageous and obscene!

Such were my thoughts when I espied you there
Engaging in your traitorous affair;
   I hid myself, while you (with knowing winks
   And gentle words and smiles that hint of kinks

I dare not think of) led your eager swain
Towards the bedroom just to make it plain
   What you intended! God, I'm so deranged
   To think you'd have my love for you exchanged

With such a low-born dandy as you have
Subjected to your will, as if a slave;
   I'll kill that bastard-slave and set him free,
   And then I'll sate my jealousies in thee!

You locked the chamber door, whereat I hearkened **********
And felt my blood run hot as my thoughts darkened
   To hear those slutty sounds of heavy breathing,
   On which my raging breast was sorely heaving.

You tore my heart apart with just a kiss,
Compounding it with words that led to this,
   And so shall I now make decisive leave
   Only to return and see you sorely grieve!

3

The father clock ticks at the future knell
Upon the fiend I'll shortly send to hell!
   And yet the bloody mind must be a cold one
   In order to accomplish such a bold one

As predetermined murder can allow,
For vengeance to be executed now;
   Ah, by the turning of conceited thoughts
   To murder, I'll untie the fickle knots

That these transgressors consummated with
Adulterous intentions through the scythe
   Of genius schemes. So go to work, my brains,
   And so relieve me of these heartsick pains!

Minutes have passed in deepest contemplations,
Wracking my thoughts in various compilations,
   Until the semblance of epiphany
   Strikes through the din of misty memory.

The festive masquerade lasts seven days
Within December's wintertide; the ways
   To kill a man may take on many forms,
   But I shall be the Hamlet that performs ***********

The murder that all witnesses remember
As just an accident on this December;
   Yet to enact this plan of genius skill,
   I must observe the prey to make the kill.

And so, beginning on the second day,
I tail and spy them out in every way
   For some two days and nights, observing both
   From afar behind the garden undergrowth.

In those two days and nights, they celebrate
With all their friends before they consummate
   Their affair in that one second-floor bedroom
   That I had eavesdropped in my brooding gloom.

And as I kept my vigil through the night,
I saw that shameless dandy in my sight
   Upon the balcony to see the morrow—
   Upon that balcony shall spill the sorrow

Of my enamored wench when she'll awaken
To a tragedy that has her shaken;
   And thus, she'll fly to me in all her sorrow,
   And I shall comfort her through night and morrow.

And so, upon the third day of my plot,
I spy them at a table 'midst the the onslaught
   Of conversation with their friends and mine.
   The time is now to see to my design!

I stalk towards the stairs and up the way,
Avoiding everyone I've seen today,
   Cresting atop the staircase with the aim
   To play the Hamlet of this vengeful game.

I stalk my way through every obscure hallway
That led towards their room; I'm making headway,
   Stealing through the shadows like an unseen host,
   Until I cross my doppelgänger ghost! ************

I'm frozen in my steps in all my terror,
Looking at my double-self in horror;
   I hold my breath and watch myself pass by,
   And watch him disappear before the eye

Of doubtful sanity could shut him out;
My coming doom shall wait upon this route;
   If I do not enact my plan this instant,
   I'll drink the bile of vengeance inconsistent

With all my predetermined plans a-shamble,
In which I'll pay so high a bloody gamble;
   I sprint along the corridors of gloom
   And steal into the quiet of their bedroom.

A moment lingers as I catch my breath,
Then steal into the balcony where death
   Shall shortly fall upon that bastard-lad,
   With just one alteration that I'll add.

I spy surroundings, crouch beside the rail,
And with steel wire, I make the irons to fail
   When any weight is placed on them at all,
   And so will cause the leaner's fatal fall.

I work on this for maybe past an hour,
Completing it as I begin to scour
   The genius of my work upon the irons;
   No lawyer shall suspect this con of cons.

The work is done; I take my leave and steel
Out of the room with happiness and zeal
   Inside my breast, and feel the cleverness
   Of it relieve these burdens of distress

Off of my weary shoulders as I went
Out of the gloom a most triumphant gent;
   I walk back to the chatter of the crowd,
   Feeling myself so happy and so proud,

Descending down the stairs just like a king,
So overly contented with my smiling
   That I attracted unforeseen attention
   In all my satisfied incomprehension.

And so, I looked towards the sound and saw
My lady standing their with looks of awe
   (And maybe shock) upon her comely face,
   Without a smidgen's smidgen of disgrace

Blushing upon her cheeks. Ah, saucy woman!
Indeed, you are a most be-fetching demon
   With eyes as sweet and innocent as youth
   Belying every modesty of truth.

And yet, I swallow all my hateful gall
And smile upon the mistress of my thrall,
   Wearing a happy mask to hide the spite
   Lingering on my features from all sight.

I said, "My lady, how I searched you out
On every floor and hallway all throughout
   These very grounds. I thought I saw your ghost
   Some days ago amidst this crowded host."

"Ah, still you go on with your ghostly fancies,"
She said. "I told my friends about your stories,
   And they are dying now to hear of them."
   I said, "I guess I can still whip up some

"Of the ones I still remember from the past,
At least as far back as my fancies last;
   But pray, who is this fellow here I've yet
   To be acquainted with? Or else we've met."

"Indeed, we have not, sir," the bastard said,
Stretching out his hand for me to shake instead
   Of bowing in the ancient English way.
   And so, I shook his hand without delay

And said, "I'm still not used to shaking hands
The Persian way, yet I can make amends."
   He said, "Excuse my gruff American
   Mannerisms to a fellow Englishman.

"I've traveled much across th' Atlantic pond,
Becoming well-acquainted with and fond
   Of barley whiskey and of barley bread,
   Which often will at times go to my head."

The crowd and my dear lady now all laughed,
And all I wanted was to grab the haft
   Of ax or hatchet, cleave in half his head,
   And laugh as madmen laugh to mock the dead.

Yet notwithstanding all my hatred for
The fiend who used my lady for a whore,
   I took it all in stride and laughed with them,
   Knowing that ere long I will be rid of him.

4

I introduced myself to all her friends,
With all my friends conversing on their weekends;
   I played along in put-on merriment,
   And suffered through it to my detriment.

And so, I drank and ate and drank and ate
My fill of feast from afternoon to eight
   At winter's eventide, when all the night
   Begot the starry dazzle from the moonlight.

We all were so enchanted, all of us,
That even I forgot the vengeful fuss
   That had compelled me to enact my crime,
   On which forever runs this tuneless rhyme.

Methought I felt the childhood ache of yore
Upon the bosom of my heart that swore
   A thousand thousand words upon her head,
   Words of such love and constancy that said,

'For in the present of these transient hours,
Please spend it here with me—the time is ours!'
   Oh, how I wished these moments last forever,
   Even if I am doomed to see them never

Again with mortal eyes and happy heart,
Which I immortalize with all my art.
   Entranced for many minutes' lengths of time,
   I now must delve into the heinous crime . . .

For crime it was, when all was said and done,
A crime of fated punishment begun
   With cruel intentions to exact revenge,
   Now turned on me to punish and avenge

My cruel designs with blades of bitter guilt,
Exacted on the cruel designs I built,
   Exacted on my instrument of death,
   Exacted on the jealous huff of breath.

But ere it comes, the plot moves very slowly,
As if the darkest hours of night unholy
   Drag their weary spans in undulating coils,
   While my yearning heart of hearts stirs up and boils.

In conversation, we walk through the ballroom
And up the stairs head now towards the bedroom,
   Passing the trek with jokes and laughs and smiles,
   As levity's own laughter oft beguiles

These heedless ignoramuses with laughter,
Only to strike them unawares with slaughter;
   Such are my thoughts as we tread through the gloom
   Of corridors towards that fatal room.

We ope the doors; we file into the room ******
With many a jest and joke upon the moon;
   We take our seats upon a chair or couch,
   While on the couch's cushions I now slouch.

We pass our time in further conversation,
Until it rests on me to give narration
   To one of my fantastic eldritch tales;
   They want to listen to the scary details.

I protest in pretended modesty
And say, "I'm rusty in all honestly
   With words that bring a chill upon the spine,
   For I had not told tales since I was nine."

"I know that you'll do splendidly, my dear,"
My faithless mistress said. "So have now fear,
   But only tell us what begins to grow
   Upon your mind, as words begin to flow."

Those eldritch words of fantasy come not
Into my brain, but only come to nought;
   Then epiphany comes thrilling through my nerves;
   My simpleminded victim still deserves

A veiled confession to my worthy crime,
A worthy climax to a genius rhyme,
   And so I gird my nerves with nerves of steel,
   Saying with all force of vengeful zeal,

"A darkness more than night had sunk upon
A weary heart; the father clock ticked on
   The fatal tune of midnight through the air,
   As if the ghouls of night were treading there—

"There on the blurry edges of penumbra ********
Before retreating back into the umbra *********
   Of utter darkness, on which shadows fed
   Upon the sleepless remnants of the dead—

"There in a blink of truth and lingering doubt
Just beyond his mortal ken to spy it out,
   Concealing ghost or ghoul or djinn or goblin,
   Haunting his mind just like a haunted cabin—

"There in his cesspool's cesspool of despair,
Where mind became an ocean full of air
   So rank with all these memories of her
   That rhyme could barely quell them with succor!

"And so he tread on in progressive shades
And shadows that resembled those of Hades;
   Alone was he, treading through empty halls
   With echoes that resounded on the walls—

"With ever-fleeting snatches of his name
Upon the sighing lips of his true flame,
   Forever reaching through the fog of time
   With broken melodies that breathe his crime . . .

"For crime it was that stole across his eyes,
When he discovered that her vows were lies—
   When he espied her with a new-found lover,
   Sharing her vile conspiracies that hover

"About his head in memories of youth—
When by her lips she proved her vows uncouth
   And thus defied him with that faithless kiss
   Shared with another man in whore-like bliss!

"How much he burned—by God—how much he burned
To grab his head and have it grossly turned;
   How much he wished—by God—how much he wished
   To have her head lopped off and grossly squished

"Slowly between the heavy iron presses,
Staining the walls as she had stained her dresses
   With all the sins that man enjoyed between
   Her slutty legs—outrageous and obscene!"

At this, collective gasps slip from their open
Mouths, as if their jaws hung loose and broken;
   At this, the bastard starts to look about,
   As if his very crime was figured out;

At this, my mistress looks upon my face,
Whereat I grin and give her heart the chase,
   And so her eyes begin to widen in
   Their sockets, as if caught in acts of sin;

At this, I relish in their shock and awe,
Witnessing my plot move on without a flaw,
   And so an evil smirk creep up my face,
   As I continue on in easy grace,

"Such were his thoughts when he espied her there
Engaging in her traitorous affair;
   He hid himself, while she (with knowing winks
   And gentle words and smiles that hint of kinks

"He dared not think of) led her shame-faced swain
Towards the bedroom just to make it plain
   What she intended! He was so deranged
   To think she'd have his love for her exchanged

"With such a low-born dandy as she'd have
Subjected to her will, as if a slave;
   He'd kill that bastard-slave and set him free,
   And then he'd sate in her his jealousy!

"She locked the chamber door, whereat he hearkened **********
And felt his blood run hot as his thoughts darkened
   To hear those slutty sounds of heavy breathing,
   On which his raging breast was sorely heaving.

"She tore his heart apart with just a kiss,
Compounding it with words that led to this,
   And so did he now make decisive leave
   Only to return and see her sorely grieve!"

At this, my audience is now upset;
At this, the bastard 'gins to sweat and sweat;
   At this, my mistress starts with such distress
   That I begin to wonder at my progress;

At this, I feel the smirk become sadistic,
Now widening to something hedonistic,
   And so I grin and gloat upon the way
   I have my victims so distressed, and say,

"The father clock ticked at the future knell
Upon the fiend he'd shortly send to hell!
   And yet the bloody mind must be a cold one
   In order to accomplish such a bold one

"As predetermined murder can allow,
For vengeance to be executed now;
   Ah, by the turning of conceited thoughts
   To murder, he'd untie the fickle knots

"That these transgressors consummated with
Adulterous intentions through the scythe
   Of genius schemes. And so he worked his brain,
   And so relieve himself of heartsick pain!

"Minutes then passed in deepest contemplations,
Wracking his thoughts in various compilations,
   Until the semblance of epiphany
   Struck through the din of misty memory.

"The masquerade lasts only seven days
Within December's wintertide; the ways
   To kill a man may take on many forms,
   But he shall act the Hamlet that performs ***********

"The murder that all witnesses remember
As just an accident that bleak December;
   Yet to enact this plan of genius skill,
   He must observe the prey to make the kill.

"And so, beginning on the second day,
He tailed and spied them out in every way
   For some two days and nights, observing both
   From afar behind the garden undergrowth.

"In those two days and nights, they'd celebrate
With all their friends before they consummate
   Their affair in that one second-floor bedroom
   That he had eavesdropped in his brooding gloom.

"And as he kept his vigil through the night,
He saw that shameless dandy in his sight
   Upon the balcony to see the morrow—
   Upon that balcony would spill the sorrow

"Of his enamored wench when she'd awaken
To a tragedy that has her shaken;
   And thus, she'd fly to him in all her sorrow,
   And he would comfort her through night and morrow.

"And so, upon the third day of his plot,
He spied them at a table 'midst the the onslaught
   Of conversation with their friends at nine.
   The time was now to see to my design!

"He stalked towards the stairs and up the way,
Avoiding everyone he'd seen that day,
   Cresting atop the staircase with the aim
   To play the Hamlet of his vengeful game.

"He stalked his way through every obscure hallway
That led towards their room; he's making headway,
   Stealing through the shadows like an unseen host,
   Until he crossed his doppelgänger ghost! ************

"He's frozen in his steps in all his terror,
Looking at his double-self in horror;
   He held my breath and watched himself pass by,
   And watched him disappear before the eye

"Of doubtful sanity could shut him out;
His coming doom awaited on his route;
   If he did not enact his plan that instant,
   He'd drink the bile of vengeance inconsistent

"With all his predetermined plans a-shamble,
In which he'd pay so high a bloody gamble;
   He sprinted through the corridors of gloom
   And stole into the quiet of their bedroom.

"A moment lingered as he caught his breath,
Then stole into the balcony where death
   Would shortly fall upon that bastard-lad,
   With just one alteration that he'd add.

"He spied surroundings, crouched beside the rail,
And with steel wire, he made the irons to fail
   When any weight was placed on them at all,
   And so will cause the leaner's fatal fall.

"He worked on this for maybe past an hour,
Completing it as he began to scour
   The genius of his work upon the irons;
   No lawyer should suspect this con of cons—"

My mistress starts to breathe in heaving fits,
And leaves the table in chaotic spirits;
   I start up after her, and then the bastard
   Throws accusations at me like a dastard,

Restraining me from going after her,
For which I turn about harshly swear;
   My mistress now runs t'wards the double-doors
   Into the frosty night beyond those doors.

Her steps within that interval of time
Take on the speedy wings of death that mime
   The stab of guilt inside my breast to plea,
   For ere I even turn to see her flee,

The bastard throws me down and follows her,
Whereat a strain of panic screams of danger
   Inside my beating breast for her own safety,
   As if the ghost of guilt now comes to chase me.

And so, I follow after both of them
Beyond the double-doors and witness him
   In heated argument with her, as though
   The world of countless eyes would have him show

Himself to be absolved of some egregious
Sin that now endangers his prestigious
   Name. I boldly walk into this night of blame
   And reprimand her for her act of shame.

She says, "By God, there's more to this than you
Can ever hope to know! Untrue—untrue
   Have I become for just a fleeting spell,
   Only to drag you also through my hell!"

"What do you mean by this?" I 'gin to say,
When in a moment all was torn away;
   That bastard suitor grabbed her by the arm
   And threw her back across the rails of harm.

The rails give way; the night fills with her screams;
The gruesome thud (which plagues my nightly dreams)
   Signals the death of my beloved mistress;
   The bastard turns and sprints in all distress

Through double-doors and bedroom door,
Past the startled audience I had before
   Thrilled with all the guile of my poetic art;
   And all the while, I sorrow for my part

When I creep to the edge and see her there,
Motionless within the moonlit rays. Despair
   Now takes a-hold of me when I perceive the blood
   Now spreading from her head, from which the thud

Of impact still resounds within my dreams,
And so I fill the night with my own screams;
   I scream her name into the bitter night,
   And nearly throw myself off in my plight . . .

But all her friends then grab me just in time,
Before I consummate my heinous crime
   In grief. What can assuage this immortal
   Ache than to live in penitent survival?

The father clock then tolls its gravest knell
Upon the midnight of my grieving spell,
   On which forever after tolls for me
   What could have been and now can never be.

5

The interval between that night and this,
In which I pen these numbers vis-à-vis, *************
   Is like the contrast 'twixt the day and night;
   There is no hope for me to set things right.

I cannot else recall what happened after,
Because disaster follows on disaster,
   So discombobulating everything **************
   Into a blur of half-remembered puking—

Of insane fits of grieving, anger, hope
(A never-ending cycle when I mope),
   Followed by long intervals of sanity,
   In which I pine away my own humanity—

Of ever-growing binges on that drink
To ease my nerves, perhaps to even shrink
   My sorrows to a spell of happiness
   That lives upon the name of drunkenness.

And in the midst of this great twilight world,
Which fate and guilt have me forever hurled,
   I do recall that man was apprehended
   For the murder that I had intended

To be the instrument of his demise;
Now with every breath I take, my very eyes
   Accuse me with the deed inside the mirror,
   In which I now avoid to look in horror.

Authorities have jailed him for manslaughter,
And while in jail (I've heard) he died of laughter,
   Laughing until he died of heart attack,
   Leaving me with no suspicion on my track.

I am now rid of him, but it had come
Upon the highest price, the deepest sum
   That was and always will be my own guilt,
   On which by cruel designs I had it built.

Sometimes in contemplation, I do think
About those evil thoughts I had that link
   Me to a vengeance I in bitterness
   Unleashed upon the head of my own mistress.

Oh, how I wish I'd ears to hear the dead!
What grand conspiracy would she have said,
   Had she survived the fall or never fell?
   If mortal ears could hear ghosts speak at all,

What meant she when she said there's more to this
Than I can hope to know? I shan't dismiss
   That final riddle from my mistress' lips,
   From which the fatal secret never drips.

For just a fleeting moment in her spell,
She has condemned me to this endless hell
   Of wondering forever what she meant,
   Which I in nightly vigils still augment

In restless dreams—in ever-growing slices
Of death I still enact in the abysses
   Of waking twilight and of dreaming gloom,
   Fixating on the glories of her tomb.

What grand conspiracy is left unsaid
Between the supple lips of the undead?
   What secret does she keep inside her heart
   That slowly tears my sanity apart?

And in the stormy passions of such rage,
Why can't I let this go and turn the page?
   I do not know, nor shall I ever know,
   Nor can I ever hope to know. And so

I follow on the whispers of the wind
And cherish still the tales she left behind,
   Her siren songs of sweet conspiracies
   Sighing through the zephyrs of my memories.

And so a darkness more than astral night
Surrounds me in its sable folds of blight,
   In which a quiet calm descends upon
   My fading state of life so woebegone.

And yet the sleep of death is ever-sweet,
Sweet enough to be a crime to e'er repeat
   Within the day and night of my own life,
   Reliving both the heaven and the strife

That was and always will be mine to find,
And for a moment even leave behind
   The endless cycle when I lay myself
   On a bed of roses she arranged herself.

Part 3. Consummation

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
   Of those who were older than we—

—Edgar Allan Poe,
"Annabel Lee"

1

I then awoke: the quilt of scattered roses
   Shimmered like drops of blood upon the meadow,
   Each drop of blood like every tear of sorrow
I shed in grief, sustaining such cruel loses
Upon my heart of hearts that now reposes
   Here in this childhood realm of memory:
   Perchance within this tarnished sanctuary,
Somewhere lies my mistress where her Rose is
Still in full bloom on consecrated ground;
   Perchance within this field of emerald green,
Her deathless Rose is waiting to be found
   Somewhere within the confines of this scene.
      I looked around and spied her Rose right there,
      Glistening in the realms of my despair.

2

Onward I trod, determined to obtain
   The Rose that promises to set me free,
   And as I crouched to pluck the petaled beauty,
A whisper of my name makes me restrain
Myself and leave it where it must remain;
   I turned my gaze and saw my lover there
   A few feet from her Rose. I stopped to stare,
Then found myself transformed into a child again!
I looked again and saw my love transformed
   Into a child as innocent and rare
As ever children were so fashioned, formed
   By God's own loving hands with loving care.
      As children shall we consummate our bliss
      With wondrous tales that we would reminisce.

3

I reached out for her hand, and when I clutched it,
   A thrill of happiness struck through my heart
   And tingled through my fingers with a smart,
Whereon I jolted up when I had touched it
And in my eagerness so nearly crushed it
   That I let go the instant she had winced;
   The instant that my hurting her evinced ***************
Upon my face, she grasped my hand and hushed it,
Soothing my worries with her siren voice,
   Soothing away my sorrows of despair,
Instilling in me reason to rejoice
   And giving me new reason to forbear
      From throwing curses on my eagerness
      And adding to my wellspring of distress.

4

Holding her hand, I wandered through the meadow,
   Beholding in her face the grace and charm
   That ever could disarm my fears and arm
My heart with hope and pluck against the shadow
Of despair; now hand in hand, we walked the flow
   Of swaying stalks, a sea of emerald green
   Beneath a moon that beautifies the scene
With gleams of light, setting the field aglow
Against a dreamy canopy of stars.
   The consummation of our bliss draws nigh,
As I now know that all of this is ours,
   Mine by sheer persistence, hers by every sigh
      That whispers her conspiracies so near—
      And whispers her dark secrets in my ear . . .

5

A wicked grin creeps up my face; a look
   Of fear then lights upon her searching eyes,
   And something innocent in me now dies
To see her shaken so when she mistook
My jest for something presaging a spook,
   So with my words I tell my eldritch tales
   To comfort her before her visage pales . . .
When something that I nearly overlook
Now captures my attention and my horror:
   Her eyes then bleed out from their sockets full
Of blood, and in the revelation of my terror,
   I stagger in surprise and try to pull
      Away from her strong grasp, and in my dreams
      I fill this verging nightmare with my screams!

(To be continued...)

A/N: Written on January 2017. This is finally finished. ( O_O ) Like "Underneath the Bed," I had to stop this poem in the middle of October because of schoolwork, so finishing this on January 2nd of 2017 feels freaking awesome. Anyway, this poem was partly inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's "Masque of the Red Death," one of his more famous short stories, though there is no "Red Death" in this poem. This is an homage to one of the great masters of Gothic poetry and short stories. Hope you enjoyed reading it. ( ^_^ )

* Dante / Vergil = (n.) Dante degli Alighieri (1265-1321), Italian poet; Publius Vergilius Maro (70-19 BC), Roman poet.
** Excelsis Gloria = (n.) Latin: the highest glory.
*** Phantasmagoria = (n.) Greek: phantom gathering.
**** Susurrant = (adj.) making a low continuous indistinct sound.
***** Fey = (n.) alternative spelling: a fairy.
****** Ope = (v.) to open.
******* Inamorata = (n.) Italian: female lover.
******** Penumbra = (n.) Latin: almost shadow.
********* Umbra = (n.) Latin: shadow.
********** Hearken = (v.) to listen.
*********** Hamlet = (n.) hero of William Shakespeare's Hamlet.
************ Doppelgänger = (n.) German: double-goer, or evil twin.
************* Vis-à-Vis = (prep.) in relation to, or compared with.
************** Discombobulate = (v.) to confuse.
*************** Evince = (v.) to give expression to.