Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

The Bard of Darkness


 
Prologue

some stories should remain untold
some fates should remain hidden
some ghosts should never raise their heads
to plead you do their bidding
deep in the dark of the terrible past
deep in the madness driven

Part 1 – Happy Youth

the boy was young, and full of life
his days were ripe with wonder
he bounced the ball & raced down halls
and shook his fist at thunder
“none shall frighten me, oh, no!
so lay me not asunder!”

he vaulted through his manic days
a lad in love with sporting
he shot the hoop and tossed the ball
he laughed and laughed, cavorting
and yet each day the sun did set
his merriment aborting

there is a time that strikes at boys
between games of skill and chances
it waits until the bloom is off
and catches them in trances
“here is where your winter lives
and dies in broken dances”



Part II --  The Coming of the Gloom

the house in front was uniform
so bland you wouldn’t note it
you could pass it by in front
and never once forbode it
but in the back, the music played
and none dared say who wrote it

transfixed, the boy stood by the door
and took the knob to turning
hot the metal scorched his hand
the smell of skin all burning
and yet his flesh, it showed no wounds
and strange became his yearning

the door he swung, and crept inside
to hear his sister playing
notes so sweet and full of love
to set one’s heart to swaying
where animals frolicked happily
with blue skies never graying




Part III -- Upon Entering the Music Room

“there’s the boy,” she smiled
“a song of him so chipper!
a song about that little boy
a clever tune for nipper!”
she turned her head just like a doll
“it’s time to crack the whipper!”

and so she played, with her wide grin
and sang of happy matters
the brighter keys, the higher notes
of rabbits and mad hatters
“once there was a boy,” she sang
“who laughed and nothing mattered”

“once there was a boy,” she sang
“who loved ice cream by the mouthful
and would you know it, soon enough
the ice cream truck’s arrival!”
a joyous song, a hopeful art
a work that knew no rival!

but soon the notes began to blanche
and pointed out the error
the boy had rushed to get his treat
and soon was caught in terror
“the truck,” she sang, “next ran him down,
after all, I’m not Tom Lehrer”


 
Part IV – The Morbid Facts

this, her gift, this simple tune
as playful as an otter
did make her laugh ere as she sang
just like the devil’s daughter
she never, ever let that boy
escape his rightful slaughter

the boy vowed to stick to outdoor games
and steer clear of all the gloaming
if he entered the music room
it would end his days of roaming
if she sang to him of puppies
next came the rabies foaming

if she sang of golden days
down on the brilliant shore
next would come a giant wave
and he would be no more
if she sang of blessed peace
next came the dogs of war

and so the keys, both black and white
beneath fingers like Cole Porter
danced with great precision
and often crossed the border
between the light and then the dark
then hammered for disorder!

the salad days of youthful rays
vanished in sad rumours
she took him to a doctor
where she sang about his tumors
she dug a grave inside her head
and named it “Baby Boomers”



Epilogue – Return of Main Theme

unto this day, it has been said
she waits, this mad composer
‘come children,’ she is said to cry
‘come, sit a little closer!
oh, to see those gleaming faces
before they are bulldozered!’

gather close, if you can gather
sit here, and hear the droning
dredged from the crypt of the mystic void
the souls made bleak by stoning
listen to the wretched ones
inside the twilight zoning

some stories should remain untold
some fates should remain hidden
some ghosts should never raise their heads
to plead you do their bidding
deep in the dark of the terrible past
deep in the madness driven

**

Dedicated to my madly creative sister Bunny!

***




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