Rolling in the skies and darkness that beckons the storm
Thick black clouds gather together into an ominous form
Gods rolls in deep thunder and clap together their hands
And who on this earth can predict their very sordid plans
These are days you run, hide and pray in mercy to abide
There lives a mystery down Pembleton Road,
Where it makes its abode with stools of toad,
And ever thick fog hanging low over its bog
That brightest light cannot penetrate —
Tis always night and filled with blight —
And you ask, what lives there but a reprobate,
Some deformed shadow lurking all around
Under naked tree branches so you hardly see,
But you know it lives in dark as thick as brick,
And that it’s been there long before the street,
And it has no name but it has staked its claim,
And no one is welcomed on Pembleton Road,
But the unwary move in some times, at least,
Until the pet-beast craves another meal
And, thus, seals the doom of strangers,
Who seemed oblivious to the curse, and so
Now find there place in the back of a Herse,
That is, if there is anything left to bury . . .
And this is the only time it makes merry
With cackling laugh that can only be heard,
Never seen . . .
There lives a mystery down Pembleton Road,
One undiscovered but still known all too well,
And at a short distance chimes the church bell
As if to punctuate this evil on Pembleton Road
Whence cometh this fear that grips my heart in despair?
And why, with such a boon, should my soul need repair?
Ah! But this dæmon stalks at night and during the day,
And who will rescue me now and his malevolence repay?
Oh, that I might laugh once again in free joy and in peace!
God, givest thou thy servant bravery and in life new lease
That he might better serve thee in this time untarnished,
And walk with head held high in your truth unvarnished!
Lo, does this deadly pestilence stalk me ever so crudely,
And doth heavily weigh down mine heart quite so rudely
That these feet of mine hath most assuredly become lead,
And the cowardly trepidation of soul is mightily well fed;
But shall I await the doom that largely seemeth to loom?
Nay! Not while there is aplenty of room in empty tomb!
Move beyond your room
Make your house more than a tomb
Go outside and bloom
There is much to see
And so much to do and be
Let yourself be free
Fear not the unknown
Ignore the chill in your bones
Grow beyond your moans
We know you can make it through this valley,
That you can escape the darkness of this alley;
Only you doubt in your bout with depression
And repression of the fullest scope of real hope,
But that’s okay because we are here, very near,
And you are dear to us, thus we will not leave
Or forsake you to your burning burden alone;
Oh no! We know what it is like to hike this hill
And hear the shrill noise of fear in every part
Of the heart and feel a gaping hole in the soul,
For we are also children of the night
Who have faced this very same blight,
But we also found the bright light and alive life
To live not rife with pain but the greatest gain!
So we are here, too, to talk and walk with you
And, if you choose, to help you along the way;
You have nothing to lose and you are not alone!
You clamor to be heard but then you stammer;
It just does not come out right though you try
With all of your might in the sight of everyone
And you’ve only just begun to spin your story
And so you begin to falter at the altar of fright
Because you feel you’re blowing it by showing
All of the world you cannot take the large stage
Even at your age, but why not turn a new page?
Let the sage inside you take over for the time;
Wisdom will guide, not chide, and you will not
Abide in fear so near to tears and they’ll hear
Your voice loud ‘n clear as you steer the stage
And engage the audience, gauge their response
And know that you have captured this show . . .
And, too, that it’s only stage fright that bites!
Dearest Romero, you cannot come here out of fear;
You see, we don’t know you and only a few want to;
You have made your pilgrimage at such a young age,
But all for not for we have bought this wall
As a clarion call that we’re surely not for all,
Even the weak and small like you, O Romero!
Say, can you see the torch held high up into the sky?
Fire once burned there to light the night sky
As a bright beacon of hope for those who cry;
But now we must say ‘good bye’ and just let you die,
For we have no place for your face ‘n no more grace;
O Romero, what are you thinking as you’re blinking?
Skies here are not blue for you,
And your skin is the wrong hue!
From sea to sea shall we be ever so discriminatory?
Dearest Romero, you cannot come here out of fear!
Not here, lad, not here . . . for we are filled with fear!
Note: Romero is both a Spanish and an Italian surname meaning: A person on a religious journey or pilgrimage . . . (also) an herb of rosemary symbolizing remembrance and fidelity.
Surely, we bear some fear with every new venture
Because the clincher is it could be a misadventure;
After all, we cannot see down the road and the load
To carry can end up being quite scary; what to do?
Forge on ahead with fidelity and prayer,
And ever look for what is bright and fair;
Expect the unexpected as a prospect for the future,
And remember: You are never alone,
Even when you’re chilled to the bone;
There is an Eye that sees and the Heart that cares;
There is One who never forsakes but close abides,
Who does not chide, but offers the helping Hand;
So with this in mind we unbind all our trepidation
And move forward into the unknown; into the new
This morning I awoke with a melancholy heart,
My mind on a trolley filled with a volley of thoughts
Brought on partly by the New Year, partly by the old,
And I felt cold, yet at the same time strangely bold;
Not only had I survived the old, but in ways even thrived,
And I could not help but wonder what is in store this year?
I hear it’s supposed to be a good one for me, but we’ll see!
Here it is, then: January has creeped in and I begin again;
Changes are in store for me, so it won’t be a bore for sure!
And I do have my resolutions for some small revolution
In my life, but the year now stretches far beyond my sight,
And it is a bit frightening; will there be blight? Or might
I thrive like busy bees in their hive? Well, I am alive!
What about you? To you I simply say, ‘Happy New Year!’
May yours be blessed with peace and cheer and lots of love!
An end in sight but there is a bend, too, to be turned;
While not everything left behind us can be burned,
Yet there is the unknown, frightening yet exciting . . .
Will we meet another street like the one we are on?
Or will it be fresh, clean and serene for us to travel?
We glance at the clock at the crossing of this block
And tremble inside; we cannot abide where we are,
No matter how brightly shines our star;
We will go far in a mere few steps, dear;
Time chimes late into this night as we look for light,
Bright sun newly risen on horizon with anticipation
And hope for better pilgrimage in a much better age;
But we do not know and this shows in our very eyes!
Some won’t make it to the bend; it’ll truly be the end;
Some will go swinging around bringing holiday cheer
Never knowing the Reaper is near;
Yes, sadly, it will be their last year;
Some will round the corner in fear
Of the unknown, asking what seeds have been sown,
And when they are shown, all the fear will disappear
In the brand New Year in which we will hear shouts
Of glee and bitter cries, hellos and sad goodbyes . . .
But it comes, nevertheless, as surely as the sun rises;
So may the New Year bring you cheer, I say this day,
And may blessings fall upon all who are near and dear!