The Keeper

Tension is rising into the sky,
The ashes lay at that bed of the end,
At the foot of the threshold,
Lies a body of spirit,
Half saint, half devil,
The markings along the floor,
Represent a ghostly past,
Continuously haunting on what may lie beyond

Into the night figures shift and shape,
The eerie presence drowns out hope,
Through the vigilant forest stands the keeper,
The ruler of what is all and what is none,
Burns entrail his hands,
As scars and disfigures appear repetitively,

At an ever-so graceful way,
The keeper guides out a hand and points to the north,
As the lingering spirits and soul remain and linger,
They look in confusion and awe,
Nothing is visible,
They are blinded by the light,
The keeper then carries them away,
into the depths of the beyond,
not a pleasant day has this been.