Status: Re-uploaded 29/09/2012. Paperback $15- http://www.lulu.com/shop/tristrum-rees/the-macabre-tales-of-young-edgar-paperback/paperback/product-20248115.html
The Macabre Tales of Young Edgar
Second Interlude
November fourth, 1841
Black Magic
By Edgar McArbre
Black magic and sorcery,
They made an effigy of me-
A pact for powers newly grown,
That hew a self too large to own,
A scarecrow of a human heart,
Not true, reflected life in art,
An empty shell that yearns to feel,
To know, bestow and to be real!
Possession took my empty skin,
In Devil's dance, I found my twin.
A marionette, crucified,
My only choice was to abide,
As moth to flame, I dared to hope,
My half would as a whole elope.
Yet, though the shadows danced for me,
The flames mocked-
None would set me free.
I flung me restless from the dark,
Towards the candle's smould'ring spark.
Hellfire was my sole abuse,
My taunting, haunting, flaunting muse.
But, vain!
I was strung, hung and lost,
My dance forever as the cost,
For quills in tongues, a cursed gift,
Which horrors though my hands did sift.
Only since I reached my pyre,
Have I glimpsed thee through the fire,
I know now what the flames consume,
What fresh things from the ashes bloom.
A half-heart beating faster,
The scarecrow needs a master!
To take him from his shelf,
So he might know himself.
The scarecrow needs repose,
To chase away the crows!
With something to be stuffed,
Before he can be snuffed.
Black magic and sorcery,
Still bind this beauteous blasphemy,
Inflame the flame that burns my name,
Yet will my chest a whole contain?
For still, my heart, it is possessed,
It cannot have its fill of rest,
At least 'til my possessor knows,
He has my soul at his dispose.
By Edgar McArbre
Black magic and sorcery,
They made an effigy of me-
A pact for powers newly grown,
That hew a self too large to own,
A scarecrow of a human heart,
Not true, reflected life in art,
An empty shell that yearns to feel,
To know, bestow and to be real!
Possession took my empty skin,
In Devil's dance, I found my twin.
A marionette, crucified,
My only choice was to abide,
As moth to flame, I dared to hope,
My half would as a whole elope.
Yet, though the shadows danced for me,
The flames mocked-
None would set me free.
I flung me restless from the dark,
Towards the candle's smould'ring spark.
Hellfire was my sole abuse,
My taunting, haunting, flaunting muse.
But, vain!
I was strung, hung and lost,
My dance forever as the cost,
For quills in tongues, a cursed gift,
Which horrors though my hands did sift.
Only since I reached my pyre,
Have I glimpsed thee through the fire,
I know now what the flames consume,
What fresh things from the ashes bloom.
A half-heart beating faster,
The scarecrow needs a master!
To take him from his shelf,
So he might know himself.
The scarecrow needs repose,
To chase away the crows!
With something to be stuffed,
Before he can be snuffed.
Black magic and sorcery,
Still bind this beauteous blasphemy,
Inflame the flame that burns my name,
Yet will my chest a whole contain?
For still, my heart, it is possessed,
It cannot have its fill of rest,
At least 'til my possessor knows,
He has my soul at his dispose.
