Ex libris mortis hic est vita vestrae

Can you figure out all the characters and their respective stories/ authors?

There are dragons writhing in my ears
They weave their deceit while they whisper of love
Round the heavy rust contained between their jowls.
A knocker to the door within my head,
A window to my beating force,
An entrance unto my
Soul.
But don't bother rapping
'Gainst the thick oak panels,
For there's nobody home,
And I gave at the office.
Back turned on reality,
With an aire of distain,
Musty pages burning in ignoble fists.
Censorship never ceasing,
Words torn and removed,
Revised, remodeled, destroyed.
I turn once again to may faithful vice of olde.
And I recline in my chair,
As a melancholy poet's bird,
Crows on about "never - something or other".
A miser in the corner
Relates to men boiled in fig pudding.
And another recounts his battle with a large fish.
A Chilean tells woes of love lost,
And yellow hearts,
While a tranfsormed beauty,
Searches for the completing spiral,
To rest between her eyes.
Another lass searches for her fragile heel,
While a third looks after a group of larger unruly boys.
My foggy friends surround me,
As they each weave a tale.
And forever I shall be,
Reclined,
Here,
Tomorrow and the next.
Fortnight after millenia
Many moons will pass.
And still I will say,
To the dragons in my head:
"Don't bother knocking
'Gainst the thick oak panels,
For there's nobody home,
And I gave at the office."