A Quaint Poe Bag Stitched of Beauty and Dread

Once upon a midnight eerie, whilst I pondered—weak and weary—
O'er a curious, quaint Poe bag stitched with dread and beauty both,
There came a glint—a ghostly gleaming—from a relic most redeeming,
Hardware forged with such esteem in shadows whispered by an oath.
'Twas from Half Moon Designs it came, and in that name, I swore an oath:
“This is to die for—naught but truth.”

No common clasp nor mortal chain could grace this cursed, cherished thread—
But fasteners wrought from dream and dread, with elegance the grave would crave.
Each magnetic snap, each chicago screw, darkly gleams as if from some necrotic dream,
A gothic spell in metal screamed, yet silent as the silent nave.
Fit for coffers of the lost, or treasures one would dare not brave—
Perfect for this Poe bag's grave.

Quoth the faux leather: “Nevermore shall lesser wares my form adorn.”
For what is beauty if not adorned by hands that know the craft of lore?
Half Moon Designs, thy hand divine—thy work has crossed death’s murky line.
I clutch this clasp as if it were the key to some unhallowed door—
And find myself desiring more…
Evermore.