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The Macabre Tales of Young Edgar
Fourth Interlude
November fifteenth, 1841
Untitled Poem
From the private diaries of Lord Edmund Vile
Young Edgar,
I've a house to still,
For at my quiet windowsill,
The sun glows fresh, and sows new seeds,
With every breath, the morning breathes.
Though I dread to tread,
On so many other hearts,
Without you, I'd be dead,
Thus, my true confession starts.
One misty morn in Manor cold,
The breath of new tides found me old;
Enfolded in my hopeless state,
I bent to bargain with your fate.
I knew that you were young,
Yet with my curse you'd be afflicted.
Now your sorrows, they are sung,
Until each can be evicted.
On nightmare wings your midnight rose,
Its tolling swelled, as blackness grows,
Through drains and dreamscape skies that darken,
With the screeching of the kraken.
Yet, in solemn strokes,
Between the executed bells,
There was invoked a fresh revoke,
That in the tolling tells.
On battlefield in turn of tide, I ventured to review,
My driven stride I set aside, and forged a pact anew.
I found you in maze of past and future horrors trapped,
And in my blinded mind did find the sole solution snapped.
Our vengeance on our bane was plain-
A way around the casting,
The insane horror thus was slain,
My loyalty everlasting.
Young Edgar,
Come be Vile with me,
And heir to all I own.
Your visitation set me free-
Your every whim I shall condone.
Of ink and quill I've seen my fill,
From your head shall the next be read,
By my good name, and in my will,
You'll have your fame.
Sincerely,
Ed.
From the private diaries of Lord Edmund Vile
Young Edgar,
I've a house to still,
For at my quiet windowsill,
The sun glows fresh, and sows new seeds,
With every breath, the morning breathes.
Though I dread to tread,
On so many other hearts,
Without you, I'd be dead,
Thus, my true confession starts.
One misty morn in Manor cold,
The breath of new tides found me old;
Enfolded in my hopeless state,
I bent to bargain with your fate.
I knew that you were young,
Yet with my curse you'd be afflicted.
Now your sorrows, they are sung,
Until each can be evicted.
On nightmare wings your midnight rose,
Its tolling swelled, as blackness grows,
Through drains and dreamscape skies that darken,
With the screeching of the kraken.
Yet, in solemn strokes,
Between the executed bells,
There was invoked a fresh revoke,
That in the tolling tells.
On battlefield in turn of tide, I ventured to review,
My driven stride I set aside, and forged a pact anew.
I found you in maze of past and future horrors trapped,
And in my blinded mind did find the sole solution snapped.
Our vengeance on our bane was plain-
A way around the casting,
The insane horror thus was slain,
My loyalty everlasting.
Young Edgar,
Come be Vile with me,
And heir to all I own.
Your visitation set me free-
Your every whim I shall condone.
Of ink and quill I've seen my fill,
From your head shall the next be read,
By my good name, and in my will,
You'll have your fame.
Sincerely,
Ed.
