Here's a tale in history about a period of tragedy
A man who thought of horrid things but really sought what happiness brings
Terror instilled within the souls of men and women, young and old
Come and listen to me, my friend
He'll make your morale descend
One Boston day, it's sad to say, a newborn child was granted miserable life
Abandoned by his father and left alone by death of father's wife
Foster child
Tobacco exporter gave him a chance
History defiled
Twisted by literature, dark and opium enhanced
Irregularity
So far ahead of his time
A spark of a breed regarding all of his literature creed
Infamy of tales and poetry
Connecting his themes to his wildest dreams
The maelstrom grew
No one knew he descended far beyond its spinning walls
Into the pit, the black abyss
His house was collapsing as he searched for Eldorado
Perched upon Pallas was life, hard and callous, the shadows of burden lifted nevermore
The vulture eye of death concealed by wooden planks below the floor
The quest for solace evolved into sorrow
Lingering obsessions
Intoxication, stimulation, creation
Hindering addictions
Apparently the message in a bottle was lost, for I could see no conclusion
But all of us remaining in the shrouded past must remember to further ourselves by obtrusion
Inebriated grin leads the mighty pen across the paper as his fears come alive
Satiric whim ignites the brim of insanity as Pluto arrives
Swaying cognac barriers, and the beating of his hideous heart increasing ever so constantly
Conjuring the ne'er forgotten lore
'Tis only this and nothing more