A Rant for Hallowe'en

Warning: In honor of Hallowe'en, the following is a terrifying tale of horror and despair.  An early retiree realizes he is trapped in a never ending labyrinth of consumerism from which he is powerless to escape.  Read on...if you dare!

Once upon an evening dreary, surfing sites, my eyes so bleary,
Searching for the best (sans Siri) snobby, foo foo, online store;
Eyes at rest (I was not napping), suddenly there came a tapping,
Was it UPS come rapping, rapping my McMansion door?
"Stuff, more stuff!" my gums were flapping, "on the other side of door!
One more package, yes, one more!"

Ah, distinctly I remember 'twas just shy of month November,
And each Apple product member strewn across my marble floor;
Eagerly I wished the morrow to buy stuff (not just to borrow),
Credit cards to ease my sorrow - sorrow from the want of more;
Seeking novel or bizarro...Hey!  A gold leafed petit four!
One last buy, then nevermore.

Anyway, the gentle tapping, stirred me from my rest (not napping),
Thrilled me to the point of clapping like I've often done before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"UPS is here entreating me to open up my door."
With the rap, the tap entreating, I peeked out McMansion door,
Darkness there and nothing more.

Into darkness I stood peering, "Where's my Dyson?" I asked, fearing,
Cursing inept postal serving, having lost my Bose before;
But the evening gave no token, and the silence was unbroken,
And the only words there spoken was the whispered phrase, "Buy more;"
Down my spine a chill awoken when again I heard "Buy more,"
Merely this and nothing more.

In my pocket, wallet burning, one more purchase I was yearning,
Coach.com I was returning, then a tapping sound once more;
"That," said I, "could be my Burley, or perhaps, my sweats from Hurley,
Strips to make my teeth all pearly?"  I these theories to explore;
So I scampered like a girly heading for McMansion door,
Really?  No one there, once more.

Closing door and sealing haven, I am startled by a Raven,
That emerged so deeply graven, on my polished Tuscan floor;
Looking for a place to nest it perched upon my vase then rested,
So I tried to shoo bird lest it break my prize from Wedgwood store;
But damn fowl refused behest it stayed on jasperware adored,
Perched and stared and nothing more.

Then this jet black bird beguiling baffled face of mine to smiling,
By the look it was compiling on the morbid mask it wore;
"Tho' thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou art gaunt and grim, foul Raven,
Like a prop from a Wes Craven slasher flick of blood and gore;
Tell me what thy birdly name is, name your stern and hardened core!"
Quoth the Raven "Ever more." 

What's the deal?  This ungainly bird was talking brief and plainly,
But it answered oh so vainly - little relevancy bore;
His two words seemed almost mainly to annoy his host, disdainf'lly
Not expressing thoughts that sanely would establish a rapport;
Then the Raven sneered so plainly, mocked my silk robe from Dior,
Once more saying "Ever more."

Whoa, that's sorta' strange and creepy, even kinda' grim and reapy,
I bet I'm just mucho sleepy, or the bird can say no more...
Taught by some dimwitted master (Justin Bieber, high and plastered?),
Learned it fast, repeated faster till its voice a droning bore;
Senseless words with no clear meaning, random noise hence to ignore,
Droning, droning "Ever more."

'Course the Raven, sitting lonely on the vase from Wedgwood only,
Spoke with face so cold and stone..ly like he meant the phrase outpoured;
Nothing further did he utter, not a feather did he flutter,
Till he overheard me mutter, "Screw him, I'm off to a store;
Cobra driver and Ping putter, clubs I'll buy 'cause I adore."
Quoth the Raven "Ever more."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
With my throat all tight and chokin' pondered bird whilst pacing floor;
"Could it be I am deluded by the stuff I buy?" I brooded,
"Could the truth from me, eluded, be that stuff is waste galore?"
Useless junk in my McMansion, squandered money, fool's decor.
Quoth the Raven "Ever more."

Items from The Galleria, Ethan Allen (not Ikea),
Even Gucci (onomatopoeia) draped my halls and graced my floor;
Mocked me did demonic Raven, scorned all items here enclaven, 
Dutch, Parisian, Sarajevan - imports most he did deplore;
("Sarajevan's" quite amazin', I'll go down in rhyming lore.)
Quoth the Raven, "Ever more."

These two words he said so clearly, used so aptly, cut so dearly,
Pierced my soul and killed me nearly, cutting deep inside my core;
Cease!  Repent, consumption maven!  Tho' retired (and unshaven),
I must end routines enslaven, shopping brick and online store;
"Am I wed to wasteful habits, senseless shopping now abhorred?"
Quoth the Raven, "Evermore."

Oh, that crow I soooo detested, perched on vase as if requested,
Festered, pestered uncontested like a giant canker sore;
"Lies and falsehood!" I protested, "Go foul fowl, I won't be bested!
Leave or I'll have you arrested...Skinny Chicken!...Stupid Bore!"
But the Raven, quite invested, stayed and sat and moved no more,
Quoth the Raven, "Ever more."

"Be that phrase your final parting, morbid fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting,
"Poison words thou hath been darting, take thee leave I must implore;
Damn the lie thy beak hath spoken (and the weed thou must be tokin')
Leave me to my dreams unbroken and take flight out yonder door.
How much longer must you torture with your talons?" (metaphor)
Quoth the Raven, "Evermore."

Words from Raven so sardonic, hit me like a plague bubonic,
(Yeah, okay, that's histrionic, still, too much to just ignore);
All at once, my soundness sapping, like a band, my saneness snapping,
Talking like the Bieber rapping: spewing nonsense, mind unmoored;
"Cuánto tiempo must I buy stuff, winged chihuahua, mon amour?"
Quoth the Raven, "Evermore."

And the Raven not to quitting, still is sitting, never flitting,
Perched upon the vase, just shitting, dropping turds upon my floor;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's heart that's teeming,
And the track lights o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the door;
Thus am I forelorn and deeming trapped by vanguard I abhor,
Doomed to squander - evermore!