Halloween 1999
Two Ghost Stories in Lyric Form
This is an original example of a "ghost story"
ballad of the type which appeared with regularity in English,
Scottish, and German song and literature by the later half of the
1500's.
A Night's Passing
The night was still, the air is damp
light flickered weakly from his lamp.
There he sits, a knight composing
to his true love, his heart disclosing
thoughts of joy and love sincere,
he wished so dearly she was near.
He carries with him a golden locket;
he touches it now, there in his pocket.
A gift from her while he was gone
far from her, at war, in Aragon.
And doing so his melancholy passes
his heart, it races, it beats so fast;
he would, he knew, see her soon,
thus revived, rouses his platoon.
The field outside was in such a state,
it rained all night without abate.
The battle began with morning rise,
two armies fought with great despise.
The battle raged on throughout the day,
but, alas he fell, that noble chevalier.
As he lay there, his body dying
his lips, they move, words solidifying,
with his soul's final gasp he cries
and her name upon his lips, he dies.
The wind rises, the flags they sway,
his life's last breath is castaway.
His soul escapes now into the storm,
mingling, growing, becoming free-form
A Night's Wind
A tearstained letter on the floor,
Her lord slain in some distant war
The night is still, the air is damp,
Light flickers weakly from her lamp
There she lies, an angel sleeping,
Spent now from her evenings' weeping.
On her anguished cheeks lie drying
Testament to a soul's pain crying.
The wind picks up, the curtains sway,
Scent rises from her lord's sachet.
On a golden chain, this gift from him
Around her throat --- for his little seraphim,
A remembrance of him while he was gone
Far from her, at war, in Aragon.
See now, her tormented brow relaxes
As the cool wind wanes and waxes,
It came, caressed; now in sleep she lies
Silken sheets thrown back, body mesmerised,
Diaphanous hands, though cool to the touch,
Give the heartsblood warmth that was needed much
Her lips are parted, her breath in gasps,
Her hands the bed's soft pillows grasp
A quake of pleasure stirs her brow,
She knows 'tis a gift from him, somehow.
And leaving nothing quite the same,
The night's wind returns from whence it came.
