I Will Be Past.

I will be past
The Raven's mark: 
made vain upon the writing 
desk where once tasked Poe,
where croaked Poe then, by muse
bird-struck and pinion-pen, on wavy
pane of window grime. Cleaned
once too soon, then let 

too slow to shine

on rhyme: 

"Forevermore." 

Was never,
once. 

No.

That was then. 
It's what one wants:
the other

wonts.