Poem

A poem about Edgar A Poe, Emily Dickinson, Langston Hughes, and EE Cummings

Lonely they write,
Deeply searching for their way
Through the dark night,
It is as if they cannot find the light
But then, is there hope? Is it suddenly the start of day?
No, no it is only a figment of our thirsty and craving minds and the darkness still lurks upon us.