Kyrie, eleison.

I welcome you, Midnight,

You hour of death and doom,

Once again in this life we meet.

I think this night shall,

As the others,

Be one of adventure.

The woods lack all light,

The moon shielding its eyes with clouds

So that it might not see me die.

Do not worry about me, dear Moon,

No, I know these woods.

You yourself have watched me pass this way,

Coming through here countless other nights.

This is no different.

The cold air still blows through the lifeless trees

That hang like corpses on display,

Put there to heed warning to passersby.

I can see the creatures watching,

Like demons awaiting a weary soul

They stand at vigil

As if observing a funeral march,

For they know they have my wretched soul,

No need for fuss or temptation.

I am a weak man.

The branches reach up to clinch my legs,

Like the hands of those I have wronged

Trying to drag me back to Hades with them.

But, no, not I.

I stand my ground.

Here.

Now.

This is the place I belong,

Not with those wretched souls of the damned.

I know I am a sinner,

I know I have faults as countless as the sands,

I know I am in debt to my Creator,

I know I owe forgiveness:

But my selfishness forbids.

I am a stubborn old man,

And I’ll die one, most likely.

Kyrie, eleison.

Christe, eleison.

Kyrie, eleison.

 C.D.S. February 2010