The facts presented in the famous case
of Valdemar were fictions after all,
from Poe’s imagination. But a trace
of truth remains amidst this blood and gall –
the collapse of human body once released
from life. Where is the spirit in decay?
No soulstuff rises from this poor deceased,
just liquid matter, festering away,
loathsome putrescence, as the author wrote
to end the story. There’s no comfort here,
no afterword or illustrator’s note
restoring hope. No respite from the fear.
F.F. Teague (Fliss) is a copyeditor/copywriter by day and a poet/composer come nightfall. She lives in Pittville, a suburb of Cheltenham (UK). Her poetry features regularly in the Spotlight of The HyperTexts; she has also been published by The Mighty, Snakeskin, The Ekphrastic Review, The Dirigible Balloon, Pulsebeat, Lighten Up Online and a local Morris dancing group. Other interests include art, film, and photography.
The Ekphrastic Review
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