Trying to understand a poem is like answering a question you were never asked.
Listen but leave the song to the singer.
Look, but leave the paint to the artist.
Read, but leave the words to the poet.
Just enjoy
and then take your thoughts
and go home.
besides,
I’m not a poet
I’m just a guy
doesn’t give a damn anymore
writing his letters to Lenore
Poe’s ex-beau, wishing her well
If her fate be hell
I can but hope God damns me
to hell as well
twould be swell, with Lenore
meander the Ocean deep
climb the highest peak
give me a place I cannot reach
I’ll meet her there
Lenore, my snare
She is
the silhouette I seek
a figure disregarding physique
an attitude, a consciousness, a love
in a word, she is above
She is very
an adjective
devoid of object
or antecedent
but mind not one man’s bereavement
for I bow only to reason
my one true God above
and due to my romantic agility
I can admit
’tis not Lenore I love
merely her unattainability
