The Lost and Found...
/The Lost and Found Lenore
The weekend after a chat with a raven.
————
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over wafting scent of pizza permeating through my door—
My appetite whet by this mocking, suddenly there came knock-knocking:
Answered I, “Who’s there? Who’s knocking—knocking at my chamber door?”
“A visitor,” a soft voice muttered, “knocking at your chamber door.”
“With a pizza—nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December
When the cold would pain each member trodding ’cross the frozen floor.
Eagerly, I hoped the sound would not repeat its great rebound
And threaten warmth my feet had found a moment just before—
That rare and radiant warm embrace found moments just before,
Would be lost forevermore.
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Neighbor, go back to your room—it’s too late to explore.
It’s too cold—my appetite was put to bed. Please say ‘Good night,’
Cold pizza would bring no delight of picnic to this moor—
The cold and windy bleakness of my chambered, lonely moor.
Darkness here, and nothing more.”
Deep into that darkness peering, long I sat there wondering, fearing,
Hiding from this schemer whence no one had come before,
But the silence was unbroken and no further word was spoken
till the dread in me had woken when she said, “My name’s Lenore,”
Which I echoed in a whisper; then once more she said “Lenore.
Like I told you once before.”
I fell back, my stomach churning, hunger deep within me burning,
Appetite so boldly yearning that I heard its rumbling roar.
“Surely, I cannot outlast my doubts, demanding such a fast;
So, perhaps this visit brings some myst’ry which I must explore—
Let my stomach cease to rumble and my fainting heart explore—
’Tis a visit, nothing more.”
Opening without a mutter, she, with lovely skirts aflutter
Stepped inside—this beauty, raven-haired like one I’d seen before;
Not the least obeisance made she, nor a moment longer stayed, she
headed with the purposed mien of motherhood to feed the poor
Directly to my kitchenette, to cut the pizza and to pour
A short libation, nothing more.
Her ebony of eyes beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
From the pained and taut decorum of the hunger which it wore,
“Thou of lovely bust and figure, bringing pizza to envigor
One so ghastly, grim with rigor, found behind your neighbor’s door.
Speak again your lovely name, which caused me to unlock my door.”
Quoth the lady, “I’m Lenore.”
As I marveled, quite ungainly, foul of spirit, I heard plainly,
And I wondered what it was, this reverence which her name bore,
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever was so blessed at seeing loveliness walk through his door;
Beauty—this sad beast of burden—wandering through his chamber door,
Bearing pizza, nothing more.
She of raven hair looked lonely; as her bust sighed, she spoke only
Those few words to underscore some deeper meaning to implore;
Nothing further then she uttered—not a skirt or eyebrow fluttered
Till I faintly gasped and muttered what had sent her to my door.
“On the morrow, he will leave me—this adieu, left at my door.
Just a pizza. Nothing more.”
Startled at the stillness broken by her words so sadly spoken,
“Heartless,” said I, “’tis poor token which he purchased from some store.”
“He who could be lord and master brought unmerciful disaster,
Leaving fast a lass whose past sits melancholy on the shore—
The dirges of long hope now past, a heavy burden on the shore—
One last pizza. Nothing more!”
Her flowing tears by then beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a comfy chair between the lady and the door;
Then, upon its velvet sinking, I betook myself to thinking
Fancy unto fancy, linking to this lady friend of yore—
Why this lovely, lonely, tearful, gentle ladyfriend of yore
Brought me pizza. Nothing more.
As I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing,
Scared to face realities which scorched me to my bosom’s core;
She came forward, started dining, her head next to mine reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining, as if she’d been there before,
Bringing on my deepest pining, as if she’d been there before;
Now defying nevermore.
At the dawn, she still was sitting, we were sitting, still are sitting
On the comfy chair once sunken deep within my chamber’s moor,
And her eyes have all the gleaming as of one who’s truly dreaming,
Dreaming in the lamp-light glowing o’er the moor of chamber’s floor,
Where my soul returned from shadows where it lurked upon that floor.
She’d returned—my lost Lenore!
By Ken Gosse
From: United States
Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/ken.gosse