The Raven
Once upon a midnight viewing, while I watched sore and stewing,
Over many a false and specious showing of Faux lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some Socialist rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis a Census taker,' I cried, `tapping at my chamber door -
Get my gun, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the ‘lection; - for a Kenyan I’d hoped rejection
From Glenn and Sean I sought direction - direction for the Faux corps -
For the blind and obeisant soldiery of the culture war -
Mindless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each civic booth curtain
Assailed me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some Census man entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some government goon entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
Load my gun, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Fascist,' said I, `or Commie rat, your thuggery I deplore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so thieving you came rapping,
And so subtly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
But I am locked and loaded now' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams of foreign birth conspiracy galore
But the media whores broken and the Darkie gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `implore!'
This I whispered, and a voice dog whistled back the word, `abhor!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely there are agents at my window jackbooted;
Let me see then, where my shells lie, and these hollow points outpour -
Let my aim be true a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In stepped an albescent raven of the sainted days of yore.
Not the least excuse made she; not an ounce of shame stopped or stayed she;
But, with mien of pampered lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Ronald just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ivory bird beguiling my fevered mind to believing,
By the grave and stern danger of socialism it swore,
`Though dire be thy admonition, thou,' I said, `art on a mission.
Patron saint of ammunition, wandering from the Northern shore -
Tell me what redemption thy bring from the Midnight Sun's shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Truth abhor.'
Much I marvelled this saintly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For I cannot help agreeing, that all honest reason fleeing,
I, once lost, was blessed with seeing Pale in our chamber door -
This Bird perched o’er the sculptured bust above our chamber door,
With such name as `Truth abhor.'
But the raven, prideful on the placid bust, spoke triumphal,
Those two words, as if our salvation solely she did outpour.
Nothing further then she uttered - not a feather then she fluttered -
Till I meekly muttered `Other prophets we’ve followed before -
On the morrow she will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Truth abhor.'
Then I sat engaged in signing, no words rightly spelling
Teabagging fiery words burning, burning in my brain’s fev’rish core;
This and more I sat misspelling, with my head at ease not thinking
On the morrow ‘gainst Morans and Muslims we would roar,
On the morrow ‘gainst healthcare, "Hands off Medicare" we will roar,
She shall press, ah, truth abhor!
`Prophet!' said I, `foe of evil! - prophet still, if bird primeval! -
Whether heaven sent, or whether Maverickly brought here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there hope in Tentherism? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Truth abhor.'
`Prophet!' said I, `foe of evil! - prophet still, if bird primeval!
By that Heaven above us - by that CHRISTIAN God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the City Shining,
It shall find usurper whining, and Patriots at the fore -
Encounter a President pining, with Patriots afore?'
Quoth the raven, `Truth abhor.'
`Be those words our sign of deliv’ry, prophet bird!' I shrieked jubilee -
`God bless thy half-term coming from yon wild and wolf haunted shore!
Leave us a token of that truthful lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my cluelessness unbroken! - come the bust above my door!
Spear thy beak into my heart, carve thy own form above my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Truth abhor.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Ronald just above my chamber door;
And her eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er her streaming throws her shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
She shall exploit – Truth abhor!