THE BONES OF ANNABEL LEE
The shuttered bones of sweet Annabel Lee
Lie beneath the writer’s grave under the tree
In moans of a tremendous terrible short life
As the poet’s genius for eternity beloved wife.
His thoughts climbed up wuthering heights
Within spirits of horrible mares in the nights
as a lonesome outpost of death and survive,
early in wilderness he lost his beloved wife.
In between the dawn he lost his point of view
In search of words forever in whole life are true.
No time of luck and laughter in abbreviated life,
tears run down the grave of is so beloved wife.
His mother sparkled like like a brilliant star,
this flower burned in a curtain stage bizarre.
It was his brandmark in life on literary stage
And he lost his beloved wife so young at age.
His father vanished within smoke in the haze
Left his boy dangling in the southern daze
With an awfull witchy stepmom all alone
And the tears running down his wife‘s bone.
His wife was freezing in all hot summer’s air
shaked by moving life to no- and everywhere,
looking for some money genius never brought,
one reason, why from death she was caught.
The shuttered bones of sweet Annabel Lee
Never ever in lifetime again will anybody see.
The raven picked and put them into the grave,
where they will rest until doomsday real safe.
Boll/10.02.2014