Edgar Allan Poe kept his promise. He continued to visit, but not in the way he believed it to be. Feathers continue to be my sign of death and I still follow his advice that there is nothing coincidental, just synchronicity, the drawings peeking through the painting of our lives, hinting at our purpose.
Poe continues to be an armchair detective, but working through me on various missing persons cases and murder cases with hopes of bringing justice. His passion, however, is aimed specifically with plans to one day expose the Brotherhood for who they are and to help fulfill the work that him and I, as Sara, had tirelessly spent hours working on. With his research and dedication and my channeling and ability to receive information with a husband who was then in the political and legal field, he hasn’t let go of the ability to show the truth.
The killings continue today. The vow made over 160 years ago is still kept. Not by one, but by many. Some believe that the killer, or killers, are truck drivers. Others believe that they may be police officers or bartenders. No matter who the killers are, they are killers nonetheless.
The killers are monsters of the past who continue to kill innocent men, mostly men in their late teens to late twenties, college men. They always die under mysterious circumstances and are found in water. Police have been baffled in over a dozen states. Private detectives are hired, but find deadends and are just as confused by the who or why. Motives vary, as does the opinions of law enforcement with a hesitation of calling this the work of a serial killer. But with many dead, spanning hundreds of year, we know that the Brotherhood’s pact is kept even today.
“There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of Hell.” —Edgar Allan Poe
Just as the Gettysburg soldier hasn’t left his post, Edgar Allan Poe remains dedicated to exposing evil and fighting the battle for truth. Forevermore.
Featherless Wings
Kristy Robinett
Within a moment of time, stilled
Giggling clouds dance to the sun
Uttering secrets in which to be fulfilled
Winds whisper promises to be done
Droplets of water begin to descend
Solitary refuge, folded wings
So frightened of the unknown, awaiting the end
But they look on, confident in what it will all bring
Sheltered in the violet haze
Shadows from the storm flitter about
The clouds move on and the sun beams down its rays
Shaking his wings, slowly, of all his doubt
He begins his flight, wavering in the breeze
Ever radiant, in all his splendor
Weaving in and out with a tease
Fate about to surrender
Into the waning dusk, they watch him soar
His wings melodically flutter in dance
Destiny ahead, beckoning more
Featherless wings, embracing the chance