The Last Evening

Listen to the breeze with its whispering breathing,
Slyly disturbing the still of the evening,
Burdened with missives, sinister and feckless,
To chastise cold stars for their lofty aloofness.


With many others who lurk in the forest,
Sad shades recline and claim their sweet rest,
There they take count of the souls that slip by them,
Each one a part of its vast requiem.


What will they see in the Depths of Valhalla,
Ruled by the sinister black Tuonella,
Who seeks the stark remnants of mortals past caring
But is unable to cure their tragic despairing


But there’s one other who lurks in Valhalla,
Quietly placed to his own satisfaction
Eager to drag down all souls so rejected
Into the squalor of grim putrefaction.


Listen to the breeze as it rustles dry leaves,
With it’s whispering and with it’s breathing,
For it’s missives declare that your God is aware
Of the evil abroad on your very last evening.