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The Raven
By Edgar Allan Poe (1845)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many
a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of
some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
Only
this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought
its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow-
sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore.
And
the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So
that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some
late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;--
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger;
hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping,
and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure
I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;--
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering,
long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence
was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This
I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber
turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I,
"surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--
Let my
heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter,
when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance
made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched
upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling
my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and
shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me
what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly
fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing
that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured
bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke
only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then
he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me,
as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly
spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful
Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy
burden bore
Of 'Never--nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled
a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy
unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant
in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes
now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet
lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press,
ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls
tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite-
respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth
the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent,
or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home
by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore--
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth
the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that
bends above us- by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall
clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth
the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back
into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave
my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth
the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of
Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight
o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall
be lifted--nevermore!
THE END
"Omega"
Stone Sour (2002)
What a skeletal wreck of a man
this is translucent flesh and feeble bones
the kind of temple where the whores
and villains try to temp
the holistic tones running ramped with free thought to free form
and the free and clear at
the matters of hand
are shelled out like lint at a laundry mat
to sift and focus on the bigger better
now we all
have a little sin that needs venting
virtues for the rending and laws and systems
and steps that rip from the branches
do
you know what your posting tales
do you serve a purpose or purposely serve
wind down in your atavistic galore
the
value of a summer spent and a winter earned
for the rest of us there is always Sunday
the day of the week that reeks
of rest
but all we do is catch our breathe
so we can wait naked under the bloody pool
and place out hand on the big
black book
to watch the knives zig zag between our aching fingers
avocation is a countdown t minus you life and counting
time
to drag you tongue across the sugar cube
and hope you get a taste
what the fuck is all this for
what the hell is
going on
shut up
I could go on and on
but lets move on shall we
say youre me and I'm you
and they all watch
the things we do
and like a smack of spite
they threw me down the stairs
havent felt like this in years
the great
magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse
let me go and punch me into the dead spot again
thats where you go when theres
no one else around
its just you and there was never really anyone to begin with now was there
sanctimonious pretentious
dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse
and a finger on the trigger
classified my ass thats a fucking secret
and you know it
government is another way of saying "better than you"
its like ice but no pick
a murder charge that
wont stick
its a whole other world
where you can smell the food
but you cant touch the silverware
what luck
fascism
you can vote for isnt that sweet
and were all gonna die someday cause thats the American way
and I've drunk too much
and said too little
when youre gaffer taped in the middle
say a prayer say a face get yourself together
and see whats
happening
shut up
fuck you
fuck you
I'm sorry
I could go on and on but its time to move on
so remember your
a wreck an accident
forget the freak youre just nature
keep the gun oiled and the temple cleaned
shit snort and blaspheme
lets
the head cool and the engine run
because in the end everything we do is just everything weve done
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