The Sound of Dying

By Elton Wildermuth, 2000

Fall down the sound of dying
to a winter of passion and pain
lost in a bleak abandon
that eternity cannot contain.
Heed the call of a warrior maiden
with a voice like the ice and snow;
feel her kiss like the fire, fast fading
into night, where you will not go.
Night calls, the sun surrenders,
light dissolves into desolate rain,
black earth and melancholy
here where nothing but shadows remain.
Heed the call of a warrior maiden
with a voice like the ice and snow;
feel her kiss like the fire, fast fading
into night, where you will not go.
I drink to you, laughing in the afternoon;
I think of you, falling into long ago.
I can hear you calling, but it fades too soon,
a memory vanished into afterglow.
Fall down the sound of dying
to a winter of passion and pain.
Shivering in a wolf-wind howling,
we will fall and be coldly slain.
Follow on with a heart heavy laden
through a land that has died too slow;
feel her touch as you walk, half wading,
where the black waters swiftly flow.