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So Cold The Snow



Through forest green I walked alone,

I bore a thought I'd never known

Before this day,

I came upon a forest glade

Where a maiden bid me come her way,

I saw her face.

Dark eyes pooled

In solitude,

Deep within her saddened tears,

So sad, her words,

Such soft whispers,

So sad her eyes that broke my heart.



I wondered whence this lady came,

I wondered how she knew my name,

How could she know?

The mystery was deepened still,

Upon a breath of winter chill

Her sigh did float,

It's soft caress

Touched my face,

Within a scent of winter rose,

So warm, her smile,

Misplaced sweet smile,

So cold her hand that reached for mine.



We walked beneath the willow trees,

She read to me of what had been

Through pages wrote,

The saddest tale I'd ever heard,

It lingered on her spoken words

And in my throat.

My heart did ache

On the words she spake

From deep within her broken heart,

Such mournful lines,

Such tearful eyes,

Such deep sorrow that dares to grow.



Once upon a long ago

Her prince lay footprints in the snow,

She followed them,

She came upon this forest glade,

And saw him with another maid,

She cried in vain.

He laughed at her

And drew his sword,

To run it throught her heart

Without a sound

He laid her down,

No one knew what became of her.



She left me with her tears to cry,

And bid that I should say goodbye

To all her folks,

She left me with those pleading words,

To echo in my beating heart,

Forevermore,

Those spoken words

Remain unheard,

For I have no one to tell them to,

The mists of time

Have my hands tied

So long ago, so cold the snow.



borloff

COMMENTS

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foxglove
15:57 Jun 29 2011

Excellent Melancholy.

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POST COMMENT

Misery To Death



I tread the path from misery to death,

Passing all of the shadows inbetween,

As the funeral drum beats my song,

A soft melancholy tune,

Heralds my wrack and ruin,

As the wind whispers my last refrain.

And I know you were the cause of it all,

And I know now the pain and the misery,

That haunts me from yesterday,

Will never, now, leave me alone.



The songbirds are quiet this morning again,

I haven't heard them sing for a while.

I look out of my window at the teeming rain,

And with it my mind reflects,

Hindsight and retrospect,

If only I could turn back time.

But I know now what's done must lay in the past,

And I know that this fate won't go away,

I guess it's the price I pay,

As my aching heart suffers the cost.



I stand on the brow and look down below,

The water's invitingly cold,

The waternymph stands with open arms,

Wet tears upon her face,

Are veiled in an early grave,

She's calling on me to come home.

And I take flight, I feel the wind in my sails,

It's time to die, life flashes in front of me,

On the reel of my memories,

I hear you call my name with a wail!



borloff

Cinderella



Cinderella looks so easy,

As she heads toward the ball,

And the perverts hands are greasy,

As he twirls his snooker balls,

He's standing in the shadows,

Watching her go by,

Saliva running down his chin,

And a twinkle in his eye.



The night is warm with madness,

As the crazies stalk the streets,

The sirens break the silence,

As another innocent gets beat,

A blade glints in the streetlight,

And a poor boy gives a moan,

Before slumping to the pavement,

To let the angels take him home.



Cinderella leaves the building,

To have another smoke,

Sheltering from the teeming rain,

Feeling safe within the porch,

The pervert, he's still watching,

From the close across the street,

Memorising everything,

To know exactly what he'll need.



A trembling noise like thunder,

Says the circus is in town,

A car screeches around the corner,

As the seven drunkards shout,

They're looking for a rumble,

To wash their hands in blood,

They don't care who it belongs to,

They just want their reward.



The pervert is still watching,

The door across the road,

Soon the night club will be closing,

And he'll get his reward,

He waits for Cinderella,

Filled with sinful thoughts,

About what he's going to do to her,

As he holds on to his rod.



The cops are taking tea breaks,

For them it's just another night,

In the distance a pistol cracks,

But they are deaf and blind,

Another body in the gutter,

As the blood flows down the drain,

This town is full of nutters,

But the cops don't give a damn.



Cinderella leaves the building,

Looking for her friends,

The perverts hands are trembling,

As he drops his cigarette,

He knows it won't be long now,

Before he gets his wicked way,

He'll inter her in the muddy ground,

She won't see the light of day.



At the crack of dawn the trucks are out,

To wash the streets of blood,

When a workman sees a finger,

Poking through the mud,

Alerted by the media,

The cops are out in force,

No thoughts for Cinderella,

She's just another corpse!



Borloff

Thorny Crown



And God cried from withered eyes

As he watched his Babylon burn,

The paint peeled from his creation,

Beneath a blackened moon,

The raven cawed his psalms to death,

As the widow played a mournful tune,

While suffering the stigmata

Of a thorny crown.



Crying tears of pain, she wailed

Her woes at a world gone mad,

Debaucherous indulgence,

Saturated in crimson blood,

She lay there in a bed of roses,

Impaled upon their thorns,

Trying to relive a memory

Held within the thorny crown.



I stood upon the balustrade,

Eyes firmly set below,

As the minstrel in the gallery,

Drew soft whispers from her bow,

Sombre thoughts of suicide,

Enticed me to my doom,

A tempting invitation

To wear that thorny crown.



Within a cold and rainswept wind

An angel cried in vain,

Her heavenly home was burning black,

Her wings of down, bloodstained,

She murmered words of Armageddon,

And told of Satan's gains,

The genocide of innocence

Had cracked the thorny crown.



The widow with the violin

Played her agonising notes,

As the screaming choir sang love's refrain,

To hail the withered rose

Whose patals trampled muddy ground,

Beneath footprints of pain,

Impaled upon the spikes of agony

From the broken thorny crown.



Still I looked down at the water

From my balustraded perch,

Cold, profound and luring,

Inviting me to berth,

Within it's deepest blackness,

Where all my pains would drown,

To wash away the clotted blood,

And heal the wounds of the thorny crown.



And God can cry his tears of gloom

While Satan roars his triumph,

I've made my choice, this is my fate,

My decision, I'll rely on

To ease the burden of my madness,

As the widow plays her violin,

My last refrain will fade away,

Like the decaying thorny crown.



borloff

My Name Is Jack



My name is Jack, I’m a prowler,

I like to prowl the streets of Whitechapel,

Looking for whores.

No one knows,

Who I am.

They try to get me,

But all their efforts are in vain.

I am the elusive one.

I am the Devil’s son.

I leave a trail to be followed,

Pieces of meat to be swallowed.

I even wrote a letter to the boss,

In red ink to represent the blood,

Of my victims, all whores,

And all of them got what they deserved.



Mary Ann Nichols was first to go,

Early Friday morning, in Bucks Row.

I left two slashes on her throat,

And her abdomen I tore,

Until she breathed no more.

Elated, my work done,

I went home.



Annie Chapman was the next I killed,

In Hanbury Street, Spitalfields,

As with Nichols, I left two cuts,

And opened up her abdomen,

Only this time I took the uterus.

Oh the sweet joy that brung.



Frustrated! And angry!

I was disturbed,

Doing my third.

I’d just finished cutting her throat,

I was disturbed and had to go.

I fled Dutfields yard at one a.m.

But still Elizabeth Stride was mine.



Catherine Eddowes was next to tear,

I left her corpse in Mitre Square.

I left the wounds I left on Chapman.

I stole some meat and took it home.

I fried and ate her left kidney,

You can’t imagine the joy that brought me.

I’d left graffiti on the wall,

And a piece of apron as a clue,

But still the Boss hasn’t cracked,

That I am Jack.



Mary Jane Kelly was number five,

I’d cut her throat down to the spine,

I left her abdomen almost empty,

And took her heart with me.

I left her mutilated body at Miller’s Court.

The Boss thought she was the last,

But I know better, there are more.

I was never caught.



It may seem strange me writing this now,

More than a century after the events went down.

Ha! Ha! Ha! I’ll sign off now.

My name is Jack,

And I am back!



borloff

Life Without A Soul



Snowflakes falling soft and cold,

To lay their blanket across the ground,

I trudge on, leaving footprints,

To be covered by the snow again.



No one sees me cast my shadow,

As I glide through the mists of time,

No one sees me come or go,

No one knows who or what I am.



I am mystery, I am enigma,

I am a secret left untold,

No one knows of my existence,

I am life without a soul.



Trust the rain to wash away my memory,

Trust the sun to melt my conciousness,

Only the moon is a friend to guide me,

As I flit among the shadows, unawares.



A fleeting glimpse is all I am,

A mere moment of thought to you,

A whisper of wonder in your ear,

A shrug of your shoulders and I'm gone for good.



You can never be certain of my reality,

You will never be sure that you even saw me,

Some people would call me a shadow person,

But no one will trust their authority.



I've been called a ghost, called a bodach,

I have been called the bogeyman,

I've been called a spectre, called a spook,

A restless spirit who stalks the land.



I have even been called a figment,

Of overindulgent imagination,

A mental deformity of perceptual vision,

A common symptom of hallucination.



I leave you clues but you cannot read them,

I show you energy from my orbs,

They occupy your attention,

While I give you fear to absorb.



You know not of where or whence I come,

But you feel the shivers from my cold,

And still you wonder what I really am,

I am life without a soul.



borloff

The Ball Of The Dead (Waltz In Black)



I see you,

Standing alone, so couth,

In your black gown and shoes,

Looking so sad.

Take my hand,

Won't you join me in dance,

Maybe you'll find romance,

At the ball of the dead.



Dance with me,

Under the chandelier,

By the candelabre,

Of flickering flame.

The walled mirrors,

Reflect us everywhere,

As we waltz around the floor,

Again and again.



The mistrels play,

Their laments from the stage,

As we dance the night away,

In a dreamlike embrace.

Oh how the laughter lifts,

A smile behind every mask,

Everyone's pleased at punch,

As he batters the maid.



To stop the rage,

The knave sells him sausages,

As the crocodile eats his date,

To the Jester's applause.

Everything's so surreal,

A phantasmagoric feel,

It's all going on as we,

Continue the waltz.



The harlequin,

Cries, "Let the fun begin!"

All the while on his lips,

His smile is a snear,

From trays held askew,

He passes the witch's brew,

Around all the dancing fools,

While the joker stirs tears.



Feel the ritual,

As laughter turns to cackles,

Announcing the death rattles,

Of the other guests,

One by one they fall,

Disappear from the ball,

Leaving us all alone,

To continue our dance.



Sleep my dear,

The ball of the dead is over,

As Death watches from the door,

There's no turning back.

Now that the ball is done,

It seems your the chosen one,

The sacrificial virgin,

The waltz in black.



borloff

Delta Blues: The Story Of Robert Johnson



I was headed outta Beulah, trying to get back to Helena,

On a cold night in October, guitar slung over my shoulder,

I was lookin' for a woman in an all night whiskey bar.



Big trees along the highway made for a dark 'n' lonesome road,

Electric chills sent up my spine by a crazed and howlin' dog,

At the crossraods south of Rosedale, met a man sat by the road,



He said, "You're late, Robert Johnson, I've been waitin' here for you."

He stood up proud 'n' tall then, eyes as black as soot,

I was kneeling on the crossraods beneath a full October moon.



He said, "Stand up Robert Johnson, throw that guitar away,

" Go play harp with Willie Brown boy, unless you really wanna play,

"I'll make you king of Delta blues son, if you pledge your soul my way."



Well the moon bore down on me then, growin' bigger all the time,

I felt the heat of the midday sun burning on my skin,,

All around me was blackness, 'cept the heat of burnin' moon.



In the heat of that burning moon, that ol' hound began to howl,

I felt it penetrate my body, I felt it penetrate my soul,

It came to rest in that big empty place, right beneath my breastbone.



Well it made me shake 'n' shudder, I said, "I think that dog gone mad."

He said, "That dog belong to me, I got his soul in my hand!

"It was I who fed him poison to give him the blues real bad!"



Well that dog began to sing then, in a long, low soulful moan,

It's rhythmic syncopated grunts running up my backbone,

Vibrated music from my guitar strings like I had never known.



I felt those dark and blue chords lift me up off the ground,

I was lost inside myself, I was floating all around,

I looked back down at staring violet eyes of that Hellhound.



He said, "That sound's the Delta blues boy, you can have it if you sign."

I said, "Mr. where do I sign, coz them Delta blues is mine!"

He said, "Robert Johson, your word's as good as your life!"



He said, "If you wanna sing the blues boy, give me your soul in my hand,

"when you sing to your audience, you will possess on my command,

"Your soul belongs to me now and the pitch black Delta sands!"



He said, "You stood at the crossroads 'neath a full midnight moon,

"Take a step north to Rosedale and you'll meet the Delta blues!"

I said step back Devilman, I'm gonna sing the blues!"



borloff