Gnashing teeth are what they promise,
lakes of fire, and fields of woe;
tortured voices howl distress
which no one dares to think or know.
But I know better -- and I see
plain as day that you are resting,
sleeping, in an endless sea
of blooming, ruffling buds of poppies.
Do you hear me now? Unseen,
yet seen by hearts aligned and near,
I hear your voice which calls unclean
to follow you through night unclear.
While holy church-bells nightly crash
I call to you to hear me now,
but onward marches midnight fast--
I hope that you can hear my vow:
"You ate the seeds from Hade's hand,
and now by styx you walk alone,
and decorate the scarlet sand
with dust and bleach'ed maiden bone.
I'll come meet thee upon the shore
of timeless man and time-ed gods
who met their end in Charon's moor,
and now do naught but restful yawn."
Silent, somber, reach me never;
Never will we touch or hold
ourselves against the whitest winter,
nor summer shade we'll share for cold.
Nor moonlight shared on walks at night,
or sunlit paths to follow on--
til dusk at last wins over light,
and last I give a final yawn.
