Heal

Heal

Here I lie, beneath a tree at night, and reminisce
Of years gone past, of youth’s careless bliss
For I’ve an affliction, most deadly, and it has come to claim
But do not despair – a good life I’ve lived, no stains to my name

Alas, one cannot help but feel a bit remorsed
Because of deeds dreamed of, but never endorsed
For things witnessed, never to be seen again
And then one wonders, though probably in vain…

Who will greet the sunrise?
Who will meet the day?
Who will on the dusk lay eyes?
And who will wish the night away?

Now, my death comes to take me, though I’m not yet done
I wish to watch the stars some more, I wish to see the rising sun
But with my last breath I can only cry umbrage to the Moon
“All are cursed with the illness called life… Let them not heal soon!”

The Inn

The Inn

A weary traveler through a dark night had ridden
Rest he longed, so at the first inn he stopped unbidden
It was not a richly place, yet clean and spacious
The host was a merry man and the hostess gracious

But in this dark hour no guests were up
Still, the traveler decided he would sup
And what a meal he had! None better…
Chops of lamb delicious and bread as soft as feathers

The wine was a most lovely color – dark, rich red
After all this gorging the traveler went to his bed
Just as his head hit the feather pillow soft
His weariness had won, to lands of sleep he wafts

A noise! There, in the dark!
No light! Not even a candle sparks…
“What is this foolishness, what trickery?
I’m lying in a coffin!? But this cannot be!

The curtains, the table – all has changed!
What on Earth is this? I feel so estranged…”
A lightning bolt, outside in darkness deep
Then rain descended, mixed with ice and sleet

The ice pounded on the roof, like drums in some forgotten song
The piano plays itself downstairs, sounds both weak and strong
A harpsichord! A flute! Harmonicas and violins
But this music was not of joy, more like foul sins…

The traveler ran down the stairs, now old and creaking
And a company of ghosts he saw below, all to each other speaking
But as soon they had spotted the unlucky sod
Everything fell silent and the traveler felt odd

The eyes of ghosts were piercing his soul
In this Ghost Opera he had no role
He tried to run, he tried to flee
Alas, not all can be free

Caught and tortured, exhausted to no end
To the depths of madness he had started to descend
Laughing one moment, in tears the next
By ghosts this traveler’s been hexed!

On the sixth day he chewed through the moldy rope
Alas, it was too late to ascend sanity’s slope
So laughing and delusional he rode forth
To the city from whence he came, he rode North

Now a beggar in these streets does walk, there, before me
Always starving, yet never dead – sane he cannot be
His story he told to me one midsummer’s day
But I know not where does the haunted inn lay

So when you are tired, dear friend
Ride on – on your stallion depend
Best not risk your neck for a meal and bed
Lest you want to end up a beggar, insane and half-dead

Avenge

Avenge

A wind blew across the forests, plains and mountains
Nothing hindered it, it was free as a flowing fountain
It blew not swift, yet with steely determination
For it was carrying the death of a whole nation

A black seed within its ghostly wings does lie
Wherever this black wind passes, everything must die
Trees turned to char, grasses gray and withered
And yet nothing can be done – this gust cannot be tethered

A plague! The blackest, cruelest and most painful death
Approaches it the city fast, like a singer’s dying breath
The sages within know of this peril, but they choose silence
For none can be saved, best to die without needless violence

On the sixth day of the insidious infection
All hope was lost, mothers killing children with cold affection
“Best to quick and painless fall than suffer hard and long
Die, my children, die, but before that, sing one final song…”

The thin and frightened voices echoed in the streets
And yet the plague has got no feelings and knows no defeats
The souls of children cry, dead by their mothers’ hands
The mothers too now dead, ran out their life’s time sands

An empty city – not even ravens here remain
Corpses lie in the streets, awash with putrid rain
No longer do the voices clatter in the forum
No longer do the people awe at the castle’s beautiful decorum

The winds of plague have fulfilled their final purpose
Humanity can’t hide inside a shell like some unlikely tortoise
Priest do preach that ‘tis the work of some mad, idiotic god
And right they are, Sodoma’s doom shall not be soon forgot

Has this god gone insane, him and his precious son?
Has he lost his mind, does he think nothing to him can be done?
Oh, ye foolish being, thinking you safe from our revenge
We are Romans! And our comrades always we avenge…

Your son shall die, his body hurt and tortured
Let’s see how you like that, watching from your holy orchard
Nail him down, and watch him bleed!
We are Roman men and only Roman gods we heed!