ok i am having fun trying to see what i can do with other poets styles. a good way to distract my mind and keep from spiraling. Again Edger Allen Poe here. All based on truth as all my poems are no matter what I am doing with them. You might see a few of these over the long weekend lol. have fun.
In halls bereft of light’s embrace,
Where shadows carve the empty space,
A silence stirs, both vast and deep—
A grief that wakes, yet dares not weep.
The table lies—a specter’s form,
Its barren face, both cold and worn.
No voices rise, no laughter rings,
No solace found in hollow things.
Oh, bonds of blood!—so cruelly wrought,
A tangled snare of spiteful thought.
A sister’s tongue, a venom’s song,
That feeds the hounds where wrath belongs.
The hands of wrath, they claw and tear,
With threats that linger in the air.
Each lie unfurls, a gilded chain,
Each whisper forged to stoke the pain.
The rose of spring—its bloom defiled,
A child’s face both sweet and wild.
Her fleeting image—sold for gain,
A shadow weeps where love was slain.
The dog—a guardian, staunch and true,
Yet cast aside, the choice untrue.
Her leash, a chain of compromise,
Her love dismissed by blinded eyes.
The father’s grip, both vile and cold,
A tale of scars too often told.
His gaze—a mirror, dark and bare,
A soul that feeds on love’s despair.
The mother’s smile—a hollow tune,
A fleeting gleam beneath the moon.
Her hand, a snare of tangled lies,
Her love, a mask that blinds the eyes.
And so the days—all bound as one,
No joy, no light beneath the sun.
The holidays, a hollow frame,
Each hour that burns—a dying flame.
Yet in the dark, a shadow stands,
A soul that fights, though bound by strands.
For though the feast may never bloom,
The heart endures beyond the gloom.
Who am I? 
I would love to hear from you!