Within the Catacombs of the Soul

Within the Catacombs of the Heart

Seek your merrymaking fellows
Somewhere else my friend,
For among these weeping gallows
Hang those who played pretend.
Hang your coats by the door
On the ancient oak tree's knot.
Hang thy head and look to the floor
And pretend you have forgot.
Their cold, dead eyes shall follow thee
If you disobey.
Their misshapen necks will turn to thee
On some mist-shrouded day.

But fear not the hang'd masquerade
Who sway in silent waltz,
For they are to be saved
They are never lost.
For those who dance among the wind
Are but forgotten, but once were whole.
It is your job, with quill and mind
To bring them from within the Catacombs of the Soul.

Watch the window for the black cat
Who can smell when danger's near.
She only comes when she knows that
There is naught to fear.
And if her windowsill lies empty,
-not a paw upon-
One should always continue gently
And watch for serpents in the lawn.

The black cat is not alone,
Not the only omen in the square,
For a white hound will oft come home
To issue you a 'truth or dare'.
The hound will ask you those words,
And you must pick wise,
For hound is cunning, but what's worse,
Is cowards he does despise.

One may think 'the coward's truth'
When that is far from fair.
But to the wise and cunning sleuth,
The coward's choice is 'dare'.
It is far easier, it seems
To jump from roof to roof
Than, as many cowards deem,
To tell the truth and naught but the truth.
And so if the hound comes to you
In a time of peace or in a bind,
Know that you must speak the truth
From within the Catacombs of the mind.

Rarest of the omens three
Is the golden frog,
For those who lay their eyes on she
Get lost in the fog.
She is like that lost city,
"El Dorado," it was called.
A promise without reciprocity,
Unless you are not flawed.

And so she has no company,
For all men have their chinks,
But it is not in spirit that she met me,
Or atleast that's what methinks.
As I walked, torch in hand
Through the dusty halls,
The warmth of yellow shimmered off
Of the crypt's dark walls.
A single, solemn, sad croak she called
And I did answer back,
"Why are you alone, dear frog?"
"None have ever answered back."

I knew the rhymes well, even then,
Of cat, hound, and frog,
And so I looked away from the friend,
And was not lost in fog.
She and I had many chats
About philosophy and life.
And we shared our tales of cats,
Riddles, hounds, and strife.
We laughed, cried, smiled, and sang
All into that peaceful night,
And in those halls of my head rang
Something more than 'could' or might'.

If you wish to meet the frog,
Then listen closely now,
For you will know only cat and dog
If your head you do not bow.
Know your body, mind, and soul,
But here's the important part:
The biggest piece of the whole
Is deep within the Catacombs of the heart.