comatose

The Visitation Sunday, June 01, 2008

In the lonesome, somber skies
    In ghostly, pale white
    (Fluttering, hovering)
With darkness in its eyes
    Bound by some earthly plight
    Pondered I: "What causeth a haunted soul
    To emerge this wintry night
For eternal slumber to demise?
    Why dost thou quiver and moan
    In sheets of ghostly, pale white?"
(Figureless, but draped in lies)


And then, a sudden chill
    The visitant drew in near
    (Lingering, loitering)
And drew in closer still
    As if to whisper something in my ear
    Implored I: "What dost thou want foul demon,
    Shadowy phantom of the air?
You have my attention, tell me thy will!
    What of this queer visitation?
    Of your burden I must hear!"
(And with a lurid shriek the sky did fill!)


Thereupon (in the wake of its cries)
    On gaunt limbs the phantom did stride
    (Leering, piercing)
I stood still, entranced by its fiery eyes
    Which bore the memories trapped inside
    Without utterance, the spirit my soul conjured
    And upon my conscious this tale conferred:
"In days of yore for thee I did ride
Seduced into battle by thy sweet lies
    Whilst thou pillaged thy land and stole thy wife!
    And although in miserable life to thee I did abide
(In death no more) Hear you me: everything dies!"


Then, amidst this ghoulish nightmare
    Imparted in silent roar
    (Haunting, troubling)
My eyes opened wide and peeled bare
    Devoured this devilish lore
    And in this silent evening of fiendish dreaming
    I awoke to find myself alone once more
"Leave me, phantom of the night!" I shouted at the air
    But there was no response, only apprehension
    Which left me trembling on the floor
(And what sanity I possessed, I surely left it there!)


And in the stillness of the night
    I nervously hastened back to the quiet sea
    (Scampering, fleeting)
O, how I wished this damp forest the sun to light
    And in this wretched darkness no more to be!
    For the torment contained in that visitation stare
    (A most ferocious tempest did bore in thee)
Of thy life; thy grim spirit of ghostly, pale white!
    Thine eyes I shall not close
    'Til thy restless soul of torment shall be free
(For thy sleep is sure to be a woeful plight!)