I came to these lines thinking about Bret Easton Ellis's new novel, Lunar Park.
It explains his book quite well. There's the loss of a son as the painful center of this story. There's also a lot of remembrance of the author's (Ellis's) father separated from the family by a divorce. Poe lost his parents very young. Existentialism becomes less of a tired old word and somewhat more palpable in this poem and in through the eyes of this well read novelist. Burrrrrrhhhh. Time for a glass of red.