A Darkest Stroll in Moonlit Night

Humble notes drift through the air,
Hanging for a moment there
As if for invitation waiting
To begin their anguished fading,
Fading to this moonlit night.
This night of inspiration grand,
Apart from other nights to stand,
Oh this inspiratious night.

The music lingers through the halls,
Echoing off every wall;
Reverberations hanging still,
Bringing humble chords to fill
The halls on this auspicious night.
Pieces to subdue the pain
Of a life devoid refrain
As I step from the bench this night.

Through the silent halls I roam,
Asking how this can be home,
With halls so utterly alone
And love to me yet never known—
Oh cruel thoughts to have this night.
With rum now poured into my glass
A book I find the time to pass,
So I might leave this lonely night.

My rum now gone, my book complete,
In floats the midnight air so sweet;
Now to the gardens out I stroll
As the midnight clock emits its toll
Into the crisp plutonian night.
The night still young, still innocent,
Still unaware of what’s been sent,
Sent to me this fateful night.

Down the twisting path I stride
With gorgeous plants on either side;
A cheery place to hide within
When all I feel is darkness in
My painful world of endless night.
Off the path and out the gate,
As the midnight clock strikes late,
I stroll into the moonlit night.

The garden’s beauty I now leave,
And in the forest find reprieve
Of life so lonely, ever sad
From love and hopes I’ve never had:
For beauty always has its bite.
Love invariably brings pain-
So in the rum I find refrain-
Night after night after pitiful night.

On I go into the forest,
Moonlight shaded, all is darkest—
What’s that I hear? Oh bitter line,
Written in a darker time,
Why do you grace my ears this night?
Is there music in the air,
As I wander everywhere?
Reveal your secrets, evil night.

Chasing bitter notes from high,
Notes that my mind occupy,
Where’s the source you evil notes?
Where’s the source from which you float?
What sends you into this night?
Your bitter origin I need,
Your inspiration do I need—
Make beneficial this cold night.

Through the trees and rustling leaves,
Whose song for darkness seems to grieve—
Wishing day to come at last
And wipe this night from darkest past.
Nothing’s peace within this night.
On edge now I, who trudge on through
This darkness, trying to find new
Ways to write my thoughts this night.

The notes climb louder, as I stalk
The notes’ emitter, on I walk
Through leaves and trees and everything
That bitter sorrow seems to bring—
Bring to me this awful night.
Which way? This way? I do not know-
From everywhere the music flows-
Lead from me darkness, into light.

I find myself now in a clearing,
All my soul within me fearing
What within this somber shrine
Emits this music, ever fine,
This music sounding ever right.
This music echoing about;
A whisper, quiet as a shout;
Fill me, song, my soul ignite.

There in the center clearing stands
A pedestal with carvings grand;
Perched atop there sits a box:
A box foreboding, yet no locks
Keep me from it on this night.
A music box it seems to be
That sends these bitter lines to me
And haunts me through this foul night.

The dancers in the box spin ‘round
To the music’s curious sound—
A song whose soothing power’s ceased,
The song’s anxiety increased
And torments me this awful night.
A scrap of paper do I see
In the box in front of me
Which drives me mad this fateful night.

To the box I walk and fetch
The paper with its gloomy sketch,
And as I read I’m filled with fear
For my life held close, so dear—
“A day of night so full of fright
Has brought you here, Replete with fear,
And now you’ll see what’s sure to be:
You won’t live through this night.”

Back to the box I fling the sketch,
And find myself an utter wretch—
I fear my life, I realize,
From what I’ve seen with mine own eyes,
On what is now my darkest night.
I turn around and try to leave,
But only madness I’ll receive,
On this darkest black of nights.

I close the box and walk away
And pray retire until day—
But as I walk from that dark place
The bitter music finds my grace,
In this biting, darkened night.
To the box I’ve now returned;
Its destruction it has earned;
It shall be gone by day’s sweet light.

I hold the box within my hands,
Its disc still spinning music grand,
And hurl it quick upon the ground
So as to silence its dark sound,
On this bleak tormenting night.
The broken wood, the shattered glass,
The disc never again to pass
And fill another soul with fright.

The dancers lie now side by side
With broken glass on either side—
Their eyes appear to follow me,
Their wooden eyes do seem to see
My form on this most haunted night.
I run away fast as I can,
This madness I no longer stand,
I must escape this wretched night.

As I sprint on through the dark
My mind it seems to fasten- hark-
To music which just plagued my brain,
And fills me with the darkest pain,
Breaking me this frozen night.
The music do I seem to hear,
Not from far, but very near,
As though within my head this night.

I burst through gates to house and home
And feel as though I’m not alone;
I see the wretched dolls all o’er,
I see the notes across the floor—
Have I gone mad from all my fright?
The music louder, still it grows,
Its origin I do not know,
Filling me with deeper fright.

I see no way I can elude
The music which I do conclude
Is coming from within my mind-
Which to my soul shall not be kind-
Killing me this awful night.
A plan I hatch to get away,
A plan—a plan to end my days,
Henceforth from this awful night.

The music's roar I only hear
Within my head, once grand and dear;
Now only madness does it know
And straight to Hell may music go
On this monstrous night of nights.
A savior do I seem to need,
But Grace's light won't take to heed
My soul on this sinister night.

As I flail about the manor
Madness clearly by its banner
Stole my mind and takes my life,
Stole my days and time and strife,
Taken on this darkest night.
A wheel-lock now within my hand
With shot and powder close at hand
Will free me from this awful night.

The pistol now well full and armed,
The pistol which has done no harm
Until this day- oh cursed day-
If only all these thoughts away
Would go from me this evil night.
As I go to end life dear—
A knocking do I seem to hear,
Who is that this late at night?

The pistol on the cabinet set
May stay there; things aren't finished yet,
It seems as though a vis'tor calls
At this late hour, how appalled
Am I, while tolls the clock midnight.
To the door I walk and cast
It open, then I am aghast
At nothing present, there that night.

"Who's there," I call, "who comes so late?"
"Who's there who interrupts my fate?
The simplest deed I carry out,
Yet called away by bell's bright shout,
Bringing me from pistol's bite.
Show yourself, I here demand!
To the threshold come and stand!
State your business here this night."

No movement is there on the land
As at the threshold still I stand,
Wondering who called for me,
Whose presence I don't seem to see,
Hidden from me on this night.
As I turn now back inside,
A tiny thing catches my eye
On the entryway this night.

A box in paper rests alone
On the entrance to my home,
I pick it up and back inside
To the table quick I stride
To unveil mysteries on this night.
"Surely these are tricks on me,
Illusions meant to madden me,
Make me lose my mind this night."

Quickly off I tear the paper
Hoping to reveal this caper,
Learn what has been happening,
Learn what caused the notes to sing
Their awful song this evil night;
But as I open fast the box,
An awful feeling in me talks
And fills with fear again this night.

The self-same box obliterated
Sits before me, spun and weighted,
Open it I do and hear
The notes, but now, I feel no fear,
Only peace now in this night.
The dancers I saw on the ground
Now stand before me, spinning round,
Dancing this peculiar night.

I watch the dancing for a while,
And feel across my face a smile,
The notes have lost their bitterness,
And now I feel the nicest bliss
On this ever-changing night.
On my table now I see
A rose, what force sent this to me?
Curious, more things this night.

A lass, a ghost, or something more
Has left these gifts at home and door,
A curious thing it is to see,
The target of some plot be me,
Me of all in God’s great light.
The box a curse, maddened art,
The rose though, love, make soft my heart?
What grand plots go on this night?
These mysteries have grown me tired,
Sit now I, next to the fire,
And fall asleep while in my chair,
As the box sends everywhere
Its curious music of the night.
The dancers spinning round and round,
As the box plays out its sound,
Soothing me from all my fright.

Saving me, this darkest night.