Theadora

My love for Theadora:
Once while in a mosh-pit party, standing next to a girl most hardy,
Over many a dead and undead volume of the zombie lore,
While I nodded soft headbanging, suddenly there came a clanging,
As of some one gently hanging, hanging from my left shoulder.
'Tis some mosher,' I muttered, 'hanging from my left shoulder -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was on the 8th, November,
And each separate Accused member sung of zombies on the floor.
Eagerly I wished the mosher; - to hang once more, so I could watch her,
From my shoulder hung the mosher ­ the mosher named Theadora -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Theadora -
Nameless here for evermora.

And the wild and uncertain bumping of all the other moshers, thumping
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
'Tis some mosher entreating to hang from my left shoulder -
Some sexy mosher entreating to hang from my left shoulder; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
'Hi,' said I, 'young Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was moshing, and so gently you were headbanging,
And so faintly you came hanging, hanging on my left shoulder,
That I scarce was sure I felt you' - here I turned to see your aura; -
Beauty there, and nothing mora.

Deep into that beauty peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only words there spoken was, "Hey babe, what's your sign?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 'Theadora'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the mosh pit turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I felt a hanging somewhat stronger than before.
'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is someone on my left shoulder;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the pit and nothing more!'

Over there I turned my gander, when, with many a flirt and pander,
Right there stood a stately vixen of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stepped or swayed she;
But, with mien of lord or lady, hung upon my left shoulder -
Hung upon a reddish sweatshirt, worn upon my left shoulder -
Hung, and gazing, and nothing mora.

Then this ivory bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance she wore,
'Though thy chest be pierced and inked, thou,' I said, 'art sure no jinx.
Ghostly thin and short-haired beauty wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me, lady, what thy name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the vixen, 'Theadora.'

Much I marvelled this glorious gem to hear discourse so plainly,
Though her answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing such a beauty on his left shoulder -
Beautiful vixen with tattooed bust hung on his left shoulder,
With such name as 'Theadora.'

But the vixen, standing lonely in the mosh pit, spoke only,
That one word, as if her soul in that one word she did outpour.
Nothing further then she uttered - not a feather then she fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered 'Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow will she leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the girl said, 'Nevermora.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
'Doubtless,' said I, 'what she utters is her only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till her songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of her hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-Theadora."'

But the vixen still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I offered a smokey treat to the girl with bust galore;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this gorgeous girl of yore -
What this thin, tattooed, pierced, and moshing girl of yore
Meant in speaking 'Nevermora.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the girl whose hazel eyes now burned into my libran core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head steadily banging
At the Accused moshing party, that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall love me, forevermora!

Beautiful, she makes me dizzy! - prophet still, if straight or lezzy! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee 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 love in this mosh pit? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the vixen, 'Forevermora.'

And the vixen, never leaving, with her tattooed chest a¹heaving,
On the reddish sweatshirt hung from my left shoulder;
And her eyes have all the seeming of an angel that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er her streaming throws her shadow on the flora;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the flora
Shall be lifted - Theadora!