As the moon argues with clouds
In winter's tormented sky
A frail life lingers in the shadows
Waiting for deaths hello
To glide over the river of Styx
On the spirit of his funeral swan.
.
Through frosted windows,
A whispered orb appears
Hovering over mortal conscience
Mirrored in masked apparitions,
Around the candles flicker.
Voices fill the room
Calling the cemeteries dead
Calling witness to this passing
And In the Rocking chair a figure
Speaking, plumes of mist
Looking from a dark abyss
Where once there was a face,
The scratching of a Quill,
Writing, moving across a veil of grey,
Hiding the pages beneath
The quill of mankind
Is Here to empty your soul,
Though your heart will try and hide,
The truth,
The person that is you.
For in his wisdom
Creation gave you a conscience
And that will always betray
This person that was you
And another testimony is taken
In the trial of Mankind
Steven Cooke
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-whom-it-may-concern-40/
