The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe

You will see clearly,
the old man I loved dearly,
indeed he raised me to be what I have become.

But that eye!
That pale blue eye, like a vulture
did make cold my blood run.

Deep into my soul staring,
his iris accusingly glaring,
blood chilling, thoughts forbidding
the words unfit for what was fitting
- what needed to be done.

“I will kill him!” I whisper loudly,
murmur proudly, the bright sky I will make cloudy,
the happy maiden made pouty.

His presence I must get rid of,
as the hand does fit the glove,
as the chicken does spice the rub
the father shall now receive his child
– tough love.

Who can guard against him,
when his best defender now offends him,
Devising schemes only days before,
in fact right outside his chamber door?

How cautiously I then proceeded
meticulousness none exceeded
To prepare for the slaughter of the once beloved father,
innocent as the “neighbor’s daughter.”
Sure, we’ve heard that one before.

Kindly a whole week I did watch him,
soul at ease, concerns forgotten.
His head resting gently, smooth pillow Bentley
but a bitter pill he will soon be forced to swallow.
No rush, wait til morrow.

Sleep deeply, drink freely, let your body grow weary,
for while your eyes are closed, mine remain open.
At midnight may your slumber be gently broken.

The clock upon the hour ringing,
his eye still glistening, chest beating
Little did he know what lie in store.
Days and nights, fists and fights,
many wrongs now made rights.
What’s a best friend for?

And so I enter his chamber, letting out a monstrous roar
overcoming my fear, to put his lights out, o dear.
Should I stop? No, let it ring clear from hilltops
“Freedom is mine!” How divine.

Surely, he must have known this day was coming
when the car would catch the dog running,
the flower steal the bird’s humming,
the fool beguiling his majesty’s bumbling,
the beat stopping the heart from drumming.

Jugular striking, punch-drunk spiking,
my foot reigning down upon him, lightning.
Until at last his bed lay upon him,
the knight’s sun did wrong him.

The deed committed,
Dionysus acquitted, to dance freely in the sun’s rays,
to greater heights, purple haze.

But somehow his heart’s still beating!
A soldier never surrenders, never retreating.
Even in death seeking, dominion over hearth and hurst,
for better or worse.

His body there lying, stone cold
soul expiring, retired foothold.
And yet his heart’s still beating!
I’ve silenced him, but the story still repeating.

As for mine, it stops warm in its tracks,
no longer through forests cuts and hacks,
only backslashes, and backtracks.

And yet, how clever was I
to dis-member family, because of an eye.
Removed limbs and heads soon to be interred,
under my now chamber floor’s wood.

But just then, to my good fortune did enter
two visiting gentle men on a police-venture.
Sent here to examine the nature of that terrific terror
which I had expelled earlier in that most fantastic error.
“Good sirs, I was merely having a nightmare
but thank you so much for your kindness and care,”
This I assured, but they were not adjured.

And so their presence I welcomed in inviting
“Come gentlemen, join me in my dining.”
Dine with me on my table-floor,
all the while my father’s subterranean body bore.

Soon the officer’s began inquiring,
about things large and small – the shining
of the clock atop my table top’s mechanistic winding
though, of course, this wasn’t their true interest alone in finding.

Nevertheless, there would be no respite then
until their voracious appetites I could somehow lighten.
For I desired sleep, sleep deeper than ever before,
to rest beneath the old man’s sheets,
eyes wide shut, entombed king tut.

But damn if that heart won’t stop beating!
Where is the Raven when I need him?
Never-mind, I’ve played my part
whether body member choose stop or start.

Beating, beating! My heart grows faint,
trick or treating, devilish saint!
Only so long can I acquaint
with the sound this picture paint,
red and black tinture, engulfing my heart’s scripture.
Pain and pleasure, good friend or foul weather
where’s the solution to this godforsaken mixture?

“No more I can’t bear it!”
This image I must tear it, let someone else inherit
this disaster, “Why, master! Come back to life,
so we can live together once more, just as before.”
Officer, is this the confession you were looking for?

But the men had already bid their farewell,
and so the heart’s story alone there was to tell.
And so I sat there on my chamber floor,
the breeze kissing close the door.