Jared Pace
Hear the music cease to play
In the land to man forever lost,
Where the skies are comprised of cloudy gray
And the trees are covered in rigid frost.
The roads are silent; no sound is made.
No rustle do the woods contain,
Past stone, past pond, past river frayed:
Only silence that leaves none too sane.
I walk past all these taciturn sights,
With thoughts malicious and feelings grim,
When, suddenly, down a lane, I hear
A church bell chanting its melodious hymn.
I walk, with fear, to the tolling sound,
Past house and marketplace decayed.
I stop and pause to look around,
But the silence makes me more afraid.
I must continue to the roaring bells
Before I fall into the snow
And never reach this fallen land
And the secret that I need to know.
Again, I trudge to the icy town,
Although my muscles tire,
For entranced is my entire being
By this booming, but soundless, choir.
Finally, I reach the city wall,
Its gates still guarded on either side
By frozen bones dressed in formal cloth,
The men that were once the city's pride.
They seem to stand immortally,
But by simple touch, they fall aside
And allow me to enter a wicked place
Where tremendous evil must reside.
As I opened the frigid gate,
I wonder what terrors lie behind
Or if this is phantasmagoria
From the deep recesses of my mind.
Looking up, with timid delay,
I quickly mutter a silent prayer
And, repudiating my rising fear,
I make my way to the center square.
As I walk, I see what the village was
During its famed and memorable prime.
For a moment, I see a hint of good
In an evil defined by a much darker time.
