The lighthouse shines like memories of a star
And guides my path through darkness from afar.
As I, upon the howling wind, do hear
My promise of redemption, faint but clear.
So on a snow-clad field I walk at night
Braving the blizzard’s unrelenting might
That piles and piles the snow both sides of me
Until its whiteness is all I can see.
My path’s not marked by footprints but by shapes
Of dying children, frozen in my wake:
The death-toll from me taken by my quest.
So while I wander, they lie down and rest.
And in their eyes the fire faintly shines,
Does flicker one more time, and then it dies.
The foolish, the remorseless and the wise
At last united in a grave of ice.
The one still on his feet heads for the call
Of distant fires whose pale lights enthrall
The just as pale horizon, where he seeks
That secret lair from which the shimmers heed:
“Come after us!” the promise’s cheerful tone,
“We see you, walking jaded and alone.
But where we live, the springs of life do flow
And every heart’s with mirth full overgrown.”
Another all but whispers: “For your strife
A chalice we have ready, and a knife
Upon a silver plate, so that you may
First quench your thirst, and then complete your way.”
The tears upon my cheeks are made of ice
Like crystal starlets stolen from the sky,
And once I gave one for a token to
A lonesome angel in the bloom of youth
To spend the night with me, to keep me warm
And lie of solace, there between my arms.
Another time a witch bid me to pay
A drop of blood when I had come astray
Into her realm of spooks, but from my strains
No single drop was left within my veins.
So, moved by pity, I instead agreed
To lie with her united in the reeds.
For fiend or angel, hag or pretty maid
Are all but footnotes to a larger slate.
The ice creeps closer, soon it’s reached my heart
That has been all but frozen from the start
And beats just out of routine, for in vain
Did I attempt to clear it from this tain.
The veils of night start lifting, soft and cold,
And far away a shimmer I behold
Upon the mountain line, the blood of dawn –
A scarlet shadow delicately drawn.
The dark is giving way, but not the ice
Which in the light still craves for my demise
And bites my skin with transcendental teeth
That sink down to the very soul beneath.
Then, for a moment, up between the clouds,
A gust of wind disintegrates the shroud
And opens up a picture never seen
By melancholy wanderers like me:
There, in the waking light floats, huge and pale
And ancient, thus disinterested whale.
A field of icicles hangs from its chest
While luminescent shells take up the rest.
And for a moment, light invades my gloom:
A counter-thesis to impending doom.
This being from the sediments of time
Will still be floating, eons down the line
And watch the world through disinterested eyes
From its indifferent realm up in the skies
Where stars light up its way, and clouds enshrine
Those monumental flukes, that tail divine.
But then again, the mist falls back in place
And takes from me that awe-inspiring grace.
The cold claims back my mind, the rising dawn
Embraces me while I start waking on.
And winds around me howl their requiem
As if I was the man to burry them –
At last, we’re are just patterns in the sand
So soon erased forever from this land.