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Sometime between 1966 and 1969…I first read Edgar Allan Poe…my favorite television series was Dark Shadows…Truman Capote wrote In Cold Blood… the Charles Manson murders took place…Psycho was still a big hit…and I had all the trauma and drama of an adolescent girl…
So is it any wonder that when I made my first efforts at putting my thoughts and feelings on paper that they came out as icy as a gargoyle’s stare?
Thankfully…most of those early musings are long gone…and I don’t even remember them…however…how could I forget the ending to a poem I wrote entitled…Rose Allen…it was a charmer for sure…filled with unrequited love and tragic death…here goes…
And may your life end as mine–with a trickle of blood running down your spine
With an ending like that…who needs a beginning…but I am left with a lot of questions…how was Rose Allen responsible for his death…and why didn’t she love him back…and why does he wish her death from his grave…so many questions will go unanswered…but most of all…who was I…and what was I thinking…
I can’t even remember now which macabre poem inspired it…although…I’m pretty sure there was one…maybe you remember…maybe you…like me…would have been dripping in black…if we’d only thought of it back then…
Yes…I was a bit melodramatic in the day…I suppose I still am…but at least now I know…Mama was right…in 50 years…none of this will matter much…
Mama…really…in 50 years…I’ll be 107…sometimes you’re as funny as Bertha…geez…
Jane