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