Ink Idle

 

Before the gates of perdition,

Your blasphemous life of addiction,

I see you wet and palpating,

I am your dreaded ghost reveries.

 

You see me not past the curtains,

As you like a fool seek atonement,

You feel me in the atmosphere,

A shadow lurking within shadows despaired.

You hear the hounds bay,

As they howl your name to the moon,

You are their leader, their protector,

Look to the sky, hearken to the call.

I wait ‘neath branches accursed: Hemlock,

While you search for your kins,

Wandering the grove mystified, petrified,

And the forest sings your ghost reveries.

 

Decrepit feet bear you slow,

As you search for light,

In the damp, dark kingdom of mirth,

Amidst pest-fed jackals of the earth.

I feel your restlessness, the pain

As you reminisce your lost love,

They spilt you asunder, Oh misery;

I am your fear, your ghost reveries.

 

Whispered conjurations in the air,

You seek the minstrels for help,

They come, quiet, garbed in black

And guide you to paths of heresy;

For you are their protector, their champion,

So you shall be the sentinel of Nocturnal,

And protect from light, from halcyon tunes

As I chant your ghost reveries.

 

The baying goes on incessantly,

Reminiscent of forlorn souls,

‘Nought’s had, all’s spent

Where your desire led without consent.

The mist parts and I appear,

Master and conjurer of your illusions,

As you lament and sink beneath the mire,

Your epitaph I inscribe –

 

“Reveries of old, bid farewell to light,

When Gods fled to Satan for respite,

As Eden lay plagued by dreams absurd,

That sung in loud drones: ghost reveries.”

 

NOTE: This is a tribute to Opeth’s Ghost Reveries record.