Notice of absence from Tristan Robert Lange
I am lagging slightly in my responses to comments on my poems due to a crazy schedule. I will be catching up on them soon. I have read them all and will find the time to respond, but did not want you to think I was ghosting. In the meantime, and always:
Read, Write, Rise, Realize.
Tristan 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
I am lagging slightly in my responses to comments on my poems due to a crazy schedule. I will be catching up on them soon. I have read them all and will find the time to respond, but did not want you to think I was ghosting. In the meantime, and always:
Read, Write, Rise, Realize.
Tristan 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Once upon a dreamy reading—ravens cawed—my heart was beating
Even faster than a widow maker ever has beat before.
I browsed Scripture, holy prompting, rapidly I found it daunting.
Now upon this dreamy reading—ravens caw—my heart still beating,
Hope this feeling’s truly fleeting, completely gone—gone—I implore.
It is terrible, I declare—beating—my heart feels as if it’s bleeding.
I scan Scripture, holy prompting, I continue to find it daunting.
Still within this dreamy reading—ravens crow—my heart speed-beating,
As if it’s about to remember my past and settle the score.
Hope this reading’s truly fleeting, completely done—done—I implore.
It is horrible, I decry! Bleeding, my heart pangs—still beating
Here within this draining reading—ravens stare—my heart jump-beating,
I search Scripture, instinct urging, it continues to grow daunting
As if to resurrect my bitter past and settle that old score.
Within this tome there’s nothing more than a mirror for me to pore.
I hope this image’s fleeting—completely over—I implore.
It’s horrible, I decry—beating—my heart hurts as it’s bleeding
Here within this draining reading—ravens squawk—my heart jump-beating,
I search the Word, panic driving, it has risen beyond daunting
For it’s resurrected my bitter past and is settling that score.
There is no escape, no place to hide—I am stuck here inside
Within this tome—this tomb—there’s nothing left, no pride to restore.
I hope this dark state’s fleeting—totally over—I implore.
It’s horrible, I decry—beating—my heart hurts as it’s bleeding
I search the Book, horror stalking, it has transformed to a haunting
For it’s resurrected my horrid past and is a most consuming spore.
Here stuck in this killer reading—ravens’ beaks—my heart skips beating,
If I had learned long ago, if I had swallowed my pride, I am sure
There’d be an escape, no need to hide—no prison here inside.
I know this state’s not fleeting—forever weather—what’s to explore?
It’s imminent, I proclaim—bleeding—lungs filled, I am not breathing.
I drop the Book—death’s gaze staring, it has murdered me—this haunting
Resurrected, embodying my horrid past; a tragic score.
Here stuck in this death position—ravens peck—my chest-meat gristled
Even more as the widow makers continue to peck and gore.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, May 15, 2026.
Tittu
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Online) - Published: May 15th, 2026 08:11
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem largely converges trochaic octameter (the primary meter of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven) with my original Revelatory Cascade form.
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: Allie561
Online)
Comments2
This is such a powerful write Tristan. It reminds me of that Edgar Allen poem “The Raven” with the repeated mentions of the beating heart as said in your comment. It starts off slow but you can feel the panic arise in that first line, it then progresses into a quicker panic. The imagery of flipping the pages faster adds a suspense that keeps me holding my breath. And then finally the realization that there is no escape as we’ve blocked the exit. This is truly wonderful and so much deeper than the words. Great job my friend.
Allie, thank you so much, my friend. I honestly love that this pulled you in the way it did...especially that feeling of the panic building and the breathing getting tighter as it goes on. And yes...you totally caught the Poe DNA in this one. Which I was hoping would come through immediately. Haha. Also, that you wrote “we’ve blocked the exit” really stuck with me too, because that’s exactly the kind of trapped feeling I was writing from here. So your comment has made my day, my friend. Truly grateful for you and your thoughtful read. 🪶🫀📖🖤
Popeye may be a widower, but he brought it on himself, as Olive Oyl had to leave before the glugs drove her mad! lol. This is all true, of course. heehee. Or at least she spends 23h 59m out of the house, if she has not left altogether.
Orchi…somehow I can see Popeye becoming the true widow maker because the glugs finally drove Olive Oyl into permanent tactical retreat... makes perfect WACT sense! 🤣 I can absolutely picture him sitting there with ravens perched around him, possibly pecking glug and brine from his mouth, while Olive spends practically the entire day avoiding the house. I mean, can one blame her? Dial in 1-888-888-WCAT to vote now. Results will be announced never! 🤣 🪶🫀📖🖤
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