Lips Of The Necromancer Poem by Eric Paeplow

By boundless lakes and darkened wood
Where do dwell, but demons and fools
In this spot, dark and lonely
Sat a man, thought unholy
In light of day, or dark of night
Upon a stone, he sat upright
In tattered robes and well worn shoes
With long white hair and eyes of blue
There he sat aghast
Conversing with souls long past
Whose voices start and sigh
As there they stop, or wander by
While the mystic winds did loudly howl
To hide their voices from our world
And in the winds, a fitting grave
For he, who could solace bring
Whose solitary soul could but hear
The voices of those we adore, those we fear
And in the night, though clear and cold
By the living, their voices shall not be heard
And from their places high in Heaven
To their voices, only he may listen
And with their voices, like hope to mortals given
Their words may pass from hell to heaven
To tell their story, to give an answer
Through the lips of the necromancer