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Description
I. Stalker
Creeping ‘round the corner,
stalking two steps behind,
waiting for a whisper,
no light was there that shined.
Silence broken like a mirror
once dropped upon the floor,
by the old man who saw the reflection,
of Death come lurking through the door.

Meander through the corridor
of the long forgotten path,
chased by a stranger,
right behind you follows wrath.
Hurry past the fountain
lying shattered in debris;
that which once was, is no more—
destroyed by the one who holds the key.

II. Desolation
As the wind grows cold with fear,
your very breath a visible mist in air,
eerie silence all around you,
do not hinder it with your prayer.
Tell not of the temptation,
nor sanctify your fear,
but whisper of the one,
whom you always shall revere.

For in this desolation, I see
no one to heal the pain
of loss, the cold silence that follows;
this sentiment I cannot explain.
And I remain so
weak and powerless,
cannot live life so
oblique and colorless.

III. Foresight of the Forsaken
At the end of summer follows autumn,
the time of change that all foresee,
just as a bird upon the wind,
witness the beauty of a silent reverie.
Yet it seems that when the shadows fall,
when you are caught within its wake,
when no light can fall upon you,
your soul was that which did forsake.

And forsaken are those who whisper,
in the ear of divinity.
The weeping widow’s heart trembles,
at the sight of your sanctity.
For taken away from her was everything—
there was nothing left to spare
but the very time she had to walk the earth alone and
forgotten—
such an aura of despair.

IV. What Has Come to Past
Among the soothing sanctuaries,
unforgiving sea touches shore with the tide.
Seemingly systematic waves of devastation—
take not, descending sea, what it is to you provide.
The Man on the Moon pulls the raging sea with all his
strength,
rope held tightly, never slipping from his hand;
he utters: “Your time has come now; spare unworthy
invocation,
for I hold the stars at my command.”

Not stepping down, not standing back,
pulling, pulling never letting go
of the rope that holds existence;
that which is now a thread too small to sew.
And seeing life hanging from a single thread,
I look to the stars in the sky;
I seek guidance, nothing more,
for I know the final eve draws nigh.

V. Vanishing
Disappearing without a whisper,
without a single word of leave,
to say a goodbye and farewell
to the ones that now must grieve.
For this is the time that the heavens
can no longer hold the evil that now reigns
o’er the helpless and the years to come,
the blood running cold throughout your veins.

Vanishing still, without fail,
never seen, but in silence, you are there.
So much has been lost and broken now,
since the beginning of my despair.
Yet I somehow see hope in this,
this thorn I cannot live without.
In my side it will stay forever,
remaining hopeless and hollow throughout.

VI. Requiem
Remembrance of the fallen,
a eulogy of saints.
The time has come to inter the ones
never before bound by life’s restraints.
No need to weep, no need to feel, for you were the one
who said,
“all who follow will ascend,
if only chosen is the path,
the path on which you shall transcend.”

A requiem is this,
a sending with great compassion,
from the ones who now must linger,
caught between the lines of great abstraction.
What are those words you whisper,
standing beside the humbled monolith of stone?
Your soft words seem to echo
through, feeling so empty and alone.

VII. Resurrection
Such an age upon us now,
the time of great reflection.
Brightened days, wondering ways,
pondering resurrection.
No longer bound are those who suffer;
those turned to dust, now sail the sky,
for they are standing here reborn;
their end they did deny.

Your halo shining, you wonder why,
how such evil could come to past.
The answer holds within it truth,
much like the stones that you have cast—
stones that dance and skip and touch the sky,
the sky of the water’s bay.
Mind the sinking stone, for it follows just two
steps behind
with each and every word you say.