To Whom It May Concern

As the moon argues with clouds In winter’s tormented sky A frail life lingers in the shadows Waiting for deaths hello To glide over the river of Styx On the spirit of his funeral swan. . Through frosted windows, A whispered orb appears Hovering over mortal conscience Mirrored in masked apparitions, Around the candles flicker. Voices fill the room Calling the cemeteries dead Calling witness to this passing And In the Rocking chair a figure Speaking, plumes of mist Looking from a dark abyss Where once there was a face, The scratching of a Quill, Writing, moving across a veil of grey, Hiding the pages beneath The quill of mankind Is Here to empty your soul, Though your heart will try and hide, The truth, The person that is you. For in his wisdom Creation gave you a conscience And that will always betray This person that was you And another testimony is done In the trial of Mankind