Dreaming of the Classics

I always look through the glass,

trying to find the White Rabbit.

The cat’s smile on my face will pass,

as I toke on the catepillar’s habit.

The raven calls my name,

the telltale hearts keeps beating.

I toke another Amontillado cask, the same 

Bleak and bleary beak keeps tweeting.

The ghosts of my past, 

Keep rapping at the door, 

But with each toke, I feel faint fast

And am greeted the floor.

My heart of darkness is rapidly quieting,

As I breathed in my last toke,

No reason to keep fighting, 

And no reason to be woke. 

Reviews

[Betty Hermelee]

A very disheartening poem; the ghosts have caught up with you and it seems like you've given up.
Lovely metaphors and rhyme. I love it.

[Kelly Scheppers]

I love the atmospheric chill each verse delivers...the awe that resonates, when read aloud. Such extraordinary writing, Kathryn!

[Rachel Ann Peterson]

Really great wording and allusions. It was a very calm, easy poem to read. It's a change from most of the poetry found on here.

[CLR9]

You forgot to reference David Foster Wallace and his retarded heap of words about a kid in tennis school that he published to compete with American Psycho