Beyond the Gate

The creaking of a distant gate;
Breaking waves through the fog,
Settling among the mossy rocks.
My tired fingers play a somber song.
In the blackness, iron bends to the will of empty men.
None of whom I call my friends.
The gate, it swings again.
Some specter crawling on my skull sips liquid dripping from my pen,
Mixing hope with reality.
My mind locked up in fantasy,
I let them in again.
Keys of bone within my grip,
Hear my voice deteriorate in unclean spaces.
Hark this humble, humble, humble cry-
Do not let them in.
All who pass beyond the gate will hurt you.
Latch it tightly before each frost.
This chasm of hate protects us.
Do not forget me.
Lock it now before all is lost.




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