Step into the shadowy realm of "Poe's Nightmares," a mesmerizing collection of short stories and poetry penned by the enigmatic Lady Eckland. This anthology is a tribute to the master of the macabre, Edgar Allan Poe, whose spectral whisper resonates...
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Beneath the pallor of a moon, so sickly sweet, A man, whose name the world would soon forget, Succumbed to opium's embrace, its deceit, And ventured down a path of dark regret.
Within his chamber, filled with ancient lore, He sought to flee the specter of his woe. The smoke did curl, an incense to implore The gods of dreams where he so longed to go.
Once vibrant eyes, now hollow, glazed and dim, Beheld phantoms that danced upon the walls, A macabre waltz, a ghastly, gruesome hymn, As sanity within its fortress falls.
"More, more!" he cried, "to quench this burning thirst, To lose myself, for I am surely cursed!"
The opium, like a siren, sang its call, It whispered lies of worlds beyond our ken. He swallowed deep the night, the rise, the fall, To never walk the mortal realm again.
His mind a theater of the absurd, Where twisted shadows played upon a screen. Each pipe he lit, reality was blurred; He saw what no man living's ever seen.
He spoke in tongues to those who weren't there, His laughter rang, a hollow, haunting sound. And in his eyes, a dull and lifeless stare, No trace of him, no shred of self was found.
As time wore on, the man became a wraith, A husk of flesh, devoid of love or faith.
And so it was, one eve as stars did hide, His heart, it trembled, ceased its weary beat. The opium that once was his bride, Had cast him down into the endless deep.
They found him there, a smile upon his lips, As though the madness whispered one last jest. For in his hand, a manuscript with scripts, Of journeys through the dreams in which he'd rest.
The tale he told within those frightful pages, A chilling poem, his descent to night. A warning left to echo through the ages, Of how the sweetest poison takes the light.
In life, he danced with demons in his head, In death, he lies, in silent slumber, dead.
