Three Lives Behind... Poem by Kris Richard Martin

I can't see where I'm going so I'll stop here for the night.
I'd like to get some rest - if I relax then I just might.
But it's been a hard and weary road, and these wasted years, I find,
Have slowed me up, and worn me down, till I feel three lives behind.

The guy behind the desk in this hotel here off the street
Looked really weird, with sunken eyes - his shirt looked like a sheet.
A bony hand reached out and stopped me stiffly in my track
As he handed me the keyand whispered softly: 'Welcome back! '

Now, I don't get into Fairy Tales, and I believe what I can see,
But this old spent man with his almost voice put a chilling spell on me.
So I grabbed my bag and climbed the stairs, pretending not to hear,
And as I drifted off to sleep his words returned, so clear.....

I dreamt that it was morning, and when I went to pay the Bill
The old guy was still sitting there, so grey, so cold, so still.
When I sought an explanation of his words the night before
He just raised his weary eyes to mine, and pointed at the door.

'So many people pass this way and ask me what I mean,
But it would take Eternity to tell them what I've seen.
The last time that you passed this way - was it '46 or '7 -
You stupid fool, you thought that you were on your way to Heaven.

'But Heaven's not the home of those who pass through that cold portal -
You, my friend, have been condemned to go back and be mortal!
So leave your bag, be on your way, and next time do it right -
'Cause if you don't we'll meet again some other cold dark night! '

My heart turned cold, my senses reeled, my mind was swamped with dread.
'What sort of crazy game is this?How can you sayI'm dead? '
No answer came from those grey lips, no notice did he take
Of my so obvious distress.... 'There must be some mistake! '.....

I woke to darkness all around; the bed was soaking wet.
The hairs were standing from my neck - this wasn't over yet.
A faint grey light came through the blinds, but not enough to see
That the cause of my disturbance found its origins in me.

With bones of ice and feet of lead I moved across the floor
And slowly raised the tattered blind a little bit, no more.
The town had gone, the mist was thick, and the only thing I could see
Was an old and rusty staircase disappearing, down, from me!