The Night of Shadows and Reckoning - EAP

 

The Night of Shadows and Reckoning

(in the style of Edgar Allan Poe)

Wow — what a night! The phantoms tore and screamed,
Their whispers clung like frost upon my soul.
Through corridors of fear I ran — it seemed
Each step betrayed the promise of control.

The demons knew my name; they called it slow,
Their teeth upon my heels, their breath like sin.
They mocked the years — four decades’ ebb and flow —
And laughed to see my failing from within.

"Washed up," they hissed, "your commerce turned to dust,
Your bargains spent, your kingdom’s coin unmade.
Accept the offer, yield — betray your trust,
Or haunt the courts where all the lost are laid."

Awoke! My pulse — a hammer in my chest —
The dawn, a pallid witness at the door.
My daughter’s voice — so calm, so sweetly blessed —
Pulled me from thought’s unending civil war.

“Just breathe,” she said, “the next day is enough.”
And lo, her kindness broke the dream’s command.
Her faith — a lantern through the tempest rough —
Led me once more to tread the waking land.

I drove through ghostly streets to morning’s end,
The legal hour struck cold upon the clock.
Then time reversed — my grandchild, joy’s true friend,
Unbound my heart and stilled its aching shock.

That smile — that echo from a gentler year —
Dissolved the demons whispering their creed.
At dusk I drank, though shadows lingered near,
And dreamt of peace my weary soul might need.

Now calm — medicated, frail, yet free —
I drift through waves of dread and brief elation.
O night, be kind — take not thy gaze from me —
And guard this heart from further desolation.

---

The Night of Shadows and Reckoning 2

(in the style of Edgar Allan Poe)

Wow — what a night! The phantoms shrieked and swayed,
Their talons scraped along my mortal fears.
Through dream’s black corridors I wept, I prayed,
For dawn to wash away the ghost of years.

The demons laughed — “Thy commerce now is done!
Thy ledgers burn, thy bargains turned to stone.
Four decades’ toil beneath a dying sun —
And now, thou facest ruin all alone.”

“Accept,” they hissed, “the offer, weak and cold,
Or join the suit where reason meets its grave —
Where Jarndyce whispers, weary, gray, and old,
And hope is but the toy of fools and knaves.”

Awoke! The room still held that spectral chill;
The clock struck six — my breath a shallow hymn.
My daughter’s call, soft-voiced, restored my will —
Her light shone through the dream’s funereal dim.

“Just breathe,” she said, “the next day — nothing more.”
Her words unbound the knots that years had tied.
Her faith became the key, the open door,
Through which the haunted man stepped back inside.

Then came the law — that ancient, droning sea —
Its tides of parchment pulled me toward despair.
Jarndyce and Jarndyce echoed dreadfully,
A ghostly choir lamenting wasted care.

But later — ah! — my grandchild’s laughing eyes,
A mirror of the youth I left behind,
Dissolved the fog that veiled the ashen skies,
And soothed the fevered chambers of my mind.

At night, the Namaste — a candle’s glow,
Some beer, some cheer, though shadows lingered near.
Yet calm returned, as embers dying slow —
And silence sang the hymn I longed to hear.

Now fear recedes — the tempest’s course is run,
Its waves of dread and rapture gently fade.
O tranquil dark, thou keeper of the sun,
Guard well the peace my trembling soul hath made.