Tuesday, May 31, 2005
The Summons
In the fire-shadowed room he spoke of Night, A Night with bricked-up windows, iron door That, barred, remained shut fast against all light. I listened, cheer-replete and laughter-sore And fresh from happy song.
The doom came crashing hard against my dreams, Dead-star-like on my peace and on my heart; Dim jealous coal from far infernal seams Flung from the Void to snuff a moment’s spark. Like breath my youth was gone.
Around us lay the meads and winding ways, And snug the little kitchen-room we shared, Sweet-scented with the ghosts of other days; But forfeit now with peril new declared. Thus was I home-bereft.
The merry glimmer of my little fire, Bright-mirrored in the many-lettered gold, Was twisted sudden to the Night’s desire; And with the slant, unhidden tale it told, Ere I could know to cry to Darkness, “Hold!” It burned tomorrow into bitter cold, And naught to me was left.
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