This Poet You Call Poe

I fear the whispers feed my mind

They tell me what to say

For me the light is hard to find

I wasn't born this way

I hear and see those things long gone

They help me with my craft

Sometimes I write from dusk 'til dawn

To get the perfect draft

Sorrows stir within my veins

As words begin to bleed

No one tries to heal my pains

So darkness intercedes

A spirit torn without repair

A curse upon this earth

Severed from the things you share

No more than afterbirth

A poet with no will to live

I care not where I go

I've suffered more than I can give

This poet you call Poe

Reviews

[just is]

I totally love this one,
awesome write.
Love the last stanza the most.