Edgar Allan Poet's Macabre Manifesto

The invitations had been sent, 

adorned with a waxen “L”

unbeknownst to anxious guests, 

they were invites straight to Hell. 

Upon the page, written in her blood 

announced wine served at five,

to drink the blood from her tiny wrist 

would assure they’d stay alive.

She polished all fine silver 

and lighted the burnished flame,

she invited guests so near and far, 

of some she knew no name.

The wine was poured, Lenore adored 

and the night did sing its song,

until the moon rose high enough 

and guests had stayed too long.

Dusk had settled and eyes aglow, 

fangs peeked from scarlet lips,

entranced by the porcelain keys she plays, 

a coma the first guest slips.

Upon the emerald, velvet wall 

a broken clock was hung

and daunting death became the guest 

when its chimes were rung.

For at the tock of twelve o’clock, 

the hostess came to show;

her eyes turned red, hair stood on end 

and little did they know…

Such hospitality Lenore had shown 

to lure them like the beast,

guests had been invited to dinner 

and now they were the feast.