Warren Gates Warren Gates
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This stanza is great ! "the spirits of regret, the souls of the Forgotten... the ghosts of Sorrow".

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Neal Shanncappo Neal Shanncappo
Recommendations: 3

To the Edge of the World


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soul mates

Like a vulture, he came to my hometown,
To my hometown.
Just a little boy, I watched him
Knock upon the old wooden door,
To the old man’s house,
The old grizzled Moor.


In silence, the man in black fled down the old road,
Beside him running silent,
Was the grizzled old Moor.
Behind the two upon a horse,
I rode through the cold.
Through the charred hills,
Beyond mountains old.


We travelled through lands, where the sun feared to tread,
And the midnight sun filled my heart with dread.
Still the two, upon dark gossamer wings,
Led me back into the sun,
But it would be many years
Before our journey was finally done.


       Hey you, with the chill in your bones
       Come gather round . . .
       Pull yourself up closely
       Warm yourself by the fire . . .
       Can you feel it?
       Hey you, listen to the tale,
       Of a soul sorrow-bound,
       Of a heart that never mends,
       Of a boy who never can rest . . .


Seasons changed
While the years sailed on by
Still we went on,
Forever on, and on.
Beneath a sun and moon
Trading places in the sky.
Beyond seas so vast,
So cold.
Until at last we came,


To the edge of the world,
Where a man now grown up
Can touch the stars.
I stood upon the edge of the place,
The place they go, their world.
Which is cold, sometimes hot
Beyond the edge of the world.


With my cloak wrapped tightly around me
I followed the man in black,
Yet behind the old Moor
Into the heart of a darkened land
Where souls yearn to be free.
And my eyes opened wide,
So eager to see what I might find.


       Hey you, with the chill in your bones
       Come gather round . . .
       Pull yourself up closely
       Warm yourself by the fire . . .
       Can you feel it?
       Hey you, listen to the tale,
       Of a soul sorrow-bound,
       Of a heart that never mends,
       Of a boy who never can rest . . .


Bright coin in my hand,
‘Twas this I gave to the dead ferryman.
Over black mirrored water,
Silently we sailed over the Sea of Styx.
Little more than my shadow
I studied the black-dressed man,
Just as he studied the souls beneath the waves,
A spiralling helix.


Upon the far shore
Minos sat upon a throne of bone
With his host of the damned,
For the grizzled old Moor
Minos passed judgement severe,
Yet unto black naught was said nor done,
Yet unto me was passed
The cruellest judgement.


I cried for all to hear,
“I am alive! Alive.”
But Minos sat back and smiled
And said, “Oh woe to yea curiosity unfed,
You who had followed black while still very much alive
Shall walk eternity through the footsteps of the dead.”
       Hey you, with the chill in your bones
       Come gather round . . .
       Pull yourself up closely
       Warm yourself by the fire . . .
       Can you feel it?
       Hey you, listen to the tale,
       Of a soul sorrow-bound,
       Of a heart that never mends,
       Of a boy who never can rest . . .


       I pray thee
       Weep not bitter tears,
       For our lives misspent.
       For all of our sins . . .
       You poor misguided fool,
       Our forgiveness isn’t coming . . .
       I pray you heed me well,
       For we are the spirits of regret,
       The souls of the Forgotten
       And we are the ghosts of . . .
       Sorrow . . . 1 comment


And so I sit,
Beneath the muted stars,
On the edge of the world . . .


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