“Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death” – To a Nightingale by John Keats
come out of the shadows.
I mean you no harm…
my gloved hands are open to you.
come and sing.
The children of the twilight grow restless and music soothes them
hanging in the air like oil on water,
while the earth slowly slides into night,
and the those drifting in between seek solace in the whispered hymns.
sing with me,
our voices braiding together
like blooming wisteria
fragrant and hanging heavily.
Wake this city of tears as it lies uneasily on the bones of the world,
and raise our glasses to it,
filled with deepest red.
No thin and cheap wine this,
no banal cup of blood so highly esteemed in penny dreadful novels,
but the choicest marrow smoked and spiced and crumbling rich
giving up its scent and its secrets to you
Raise your chin Darkling,
and let me wipe the slick of souls
as it drips down,
and touch it,
to my lips.
This sweet and crooning poison,
this heady brew,
distilled in heaven and desired in hell,
let its sting linger in the corners of my mouth.
Come and sing
we shall wake the calm dead and stir the shades
raising them from complaint slumber
to once again conquer the night,
to rule with iron and bone and whispered conjurations of power,
to stop times fade and whiten the standing stones,
to bring the worn words into focus.
Scraping the moss and letting the magic run clean…
The dead shall not merely rise,
they shall erupt,
and in that moment
we shall fly into that maelstrom and ride their spectral winds,
the reins catching in my gloved and waiting
and we shall batten down those who stifled the seekers and the dreamers of night
who forced them into braced vaults welded of brass and disbelief and fear.
The one key clenched in those thin and merciless hands
until in sorrow
even the silver faded into despairing grey.
come with me,
my dark and deepest love,
and let us take our birthright back.