THE SILENT ONES
At last the time has come,
The daylight has diminished,
As they knock upon the door,
Staring in from the entryway.
The hook-fingered ones have arrived
To this sickbed,
And sealed the lock of life.
And so inside step the bearers,
The little folk, the takers,
In their white greatcoats,
Their shrouds all mould-stained.
It is the time of the final journey,
The march of the crippled ones.
The carts await out in the yard,
The procession already ready.
“Rise, you skull-less fairy,
Boneless bird, take to flight.”
For the pale guests came not unbidden,
In nights of despair the cries of anguish fled the cabin.
Prayers and curses alike they have heard,
And have promised a home, though one beneath no heaven
They, the silent ones, walk my corpse-road with me.
We, the silent ones, journey to the lands of the dead.
And the painful evening of life was not left without farewell.
Darkness fell without mercy, and the bridge of time decayed
“Beneath, your kin await their child,
Old cadavers wander.
They spin the thread of rest
Into the darkest cottages.”
And hidden in the earth’s bosom
My folk lie in wait.
My chamber has been prepared
In a hollow among the roots.
And the stony field of life was not left without untilled.
To rest came, without circling back, the soul-bird’s flight.
At last the time has come,
A veil has covered you.
We have woken to the call,
And moved on in silence.
Along the long path beneath the ground,
To bear a new carcass,
We come to fetch you.
“We come to fetch you.”
We come to fetch you.
They, the silent ones, walk my corpse-road with me.
We, the silent ones, close ourselves into the lands of the dead.
We, the silent ones. We, the silent ones.