28 Oct

Aka the week of Halloween.

Now this…THIS is the life… Spiderwebs, carved pumpkins, ghosts, ghouls, stereotypical broom riding witches, decorations and costumes that represent the craziness of you. 

Yes ladies and gentlemen, this is the one month a year we all get to watch, read, discuss and enjoy creepy/scary/monster-ey things without being judged, looked at with funny looks or taken to a psychiatrist because it’s Hallowmonth and we can do whatever we want. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Beet…. Hahaha nope. Not happening. 

So as per my annual tradition here’s some of the Poe to continue your Halloweek and Halloween along with piece and harmony.

Dreamland by Edgar Allan Poe

 By a route obscure and lonely,

Haunted by ill angels only,

Where an Eidolon, named Night,

On a black throne reigns upright,

I have reached these lands but newly

From an ultimate dim Thule—

From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,

Out of Space—out of Time. 
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,

And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,

With forms that no man can discover

For the dews that drip all over;

Mountains toppling evermore

Into seas without a shore;

Seas that restlessly aspire,

Surging, unto skies of fire;

Lakes that endlessly outspread

Their lone waters—lone and dead,

Their still waters—still and chilly

With the snows of the lolling lily. 
By the lakes that thus outspread

Their lone waters, lone and dead,—

Their sad waters, sad and chilly

With the snows of the lolling lily,—
By the mountains—near the river

Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,—

By the gray woods,—by the swamp

Where the toad and the newt encamp,—

By the dismal tarns and pools 

Where dwell the Ghouls,—

By each spot the most unholy—

In each nook most melancholy,—
There the traveller meets aghast

Sheeted Memories of the past—

Shrouded forms that start and sigh

As they pass the wanderer by—

White-robed forms of friends long given,

In agony, to the Earth—and Heaven. 
For the heart whose woes are legion

‘Tis a peaceful, soothing region—

For the spirit that walks in shadow

‘Tis—oh, ’tis an Eldorado!

But the traveller, travelling through it,

May not—dare not openly view it;

Never its mysteries are exposed

To the weak human eye unclosed;

So wills its King, who hath forbid

The uplifting of the fringed lid;

And thus the sad Soul that here passes

Beholds it but through darkened glasses. 
By a route obscure and lonely,

Haunted by ill angels only. 

Where an Eidolon, named Night,

On a black throne reigns upright,

I have wandered home but newly

From this ultimate dim Thule.


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