My heart is held in icy grip
A biting wind now takes my breath
Along the path I struggle and slip
Before me dance the wraiths of death.
So bleak the church ahead I knew,
Grey and spectral in ghastly glow.
The tumbled tombs and gnarled yew
And drunken headstones covered in snow
The lych gate beckons with moonlit chill;
A frosty welcome offers me.
An ashen light from shuttered grill
What solace there can find for me?
Along the frosty path I tread
In wretched pain and hapless grief.
The door creeks open, with deathly dread
I step inside, but no relief.
Here death pervades the icy air;
And now amongst the ghastly flock
Whose twisted bodies sit and stare
I sit: my memories I try to block
The air is bitter, no warmth I feel
My fingers freeze in icy air
On bench I sit, on floor I kneel
No comfort now I find in prayer
I hear the preacher preach
Absolving all by Godly prayer
Of joys eternal he tries to teach
But thoughts of joy are dim I swear
“O Lord, make haste to help us.”
The priest now mutters – a plea indeed
“And make thy chosen people joyful.”
O, how can joy be so decreed?
No joy I find in here displayed,
As death pervades the arctic cold;
I swear to God in all I prayed
That joy for me would ne’er unfold.
I join a world, of gruesome dead
A nightmare grim in mortal terms
The ghoulish priest in fear and dread
My life and death he now confirms.
I slump and fade; I sigh and then……
No thought, no feeling; I dream no more,
I reap the sleep of sinful men;
In death I rest and live no more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great piece, enjoyed every line, the intensity of death lurking, not even with the church, priest and prayers could it be subsided, shows the inevitability of death, lovely and inspiring poem