I created the following poem using the words of Edgar Allan Poe from the story “Ligeia”
I cannot for my soul,
long through much suffering,
bring these points to mind.
Her singular yet placid cast of beauty.
Eloquence. Her low… musical.
My heart steadily and stealthily…
I believe that I first met her: old, decaying city.
I have surely heard her speak…
Ligeia buried impressions.
I bring before my eyes in fancy, Her
who is no more a recollection. Never known.
Who became a playful charge.
Or was it a test of my strength of affection?
Or was it rather… Offering on the shrine
of most passionate devotion.
The fact itself… what wonder the circumstances.
Spirit which is entitled Romance,
the wan and misty-eyed,
presided over… Surely she presided.
My memory fails me…
She was her latter days. To portray
the majesty, the quiet ease,
the incomprehensible lightness and elasticity.
She came and departed as shadow.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 