I know how Poe's pen did write
and how his heart did weep
As torment tossed in dead of night
he longed for restful sleep.

But sleep he not, and nor will I
till sun rise at my door.
Yes, love is lost, but tears will dry.
I'll face the day once more.

For in the day, no ghosts survive
to battle with my mind.
Flowers, birds, I am alive!
To dwell with human kind.

Forsaking demons of the night,
forgetting all the pain.
Remembering only what is right
is how I will remain.

But twilight comes as once before
laying fear as tho a cloak.
Heavy on my shoulder bore
so tightly 'round my throat!

Sleep he not, and nor will I,
armed with page and pen.
Ghosts of past and demons die
and I shall live again.