Keeper of Keys

[smokingboot]

Crow clothed, I would not battle any more
But dropped my hands to wander in the grey
Where is the land my kind can make a home?
Where is the music that can sing of me?

If I should hear a knocking at the door
as of a spirit from the old country
bound homeward from this nonsense of a life
demanding that I let them loose to fly

Tonight I would turn key and let them in,
past coffins, gates and buildings that they loved
And warn them not to tarry here too long
But know this is the kingdom of the dead

And though the feast is warm, all here are ghosts
mere hungry bones, a thousand years and more
Then it will be my time to fly, released
From knowledge and the closing of the door.

3/12/2015

Comments

[nyarbaggytep.livejournal.com]

Love this so much.

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

I'm glad! It came out pretty much all together as a piece. I am surprised at it.