adamdaniel

Living on the Borderline

Living on the borderline,
Where dead men swim anon—
Reaching out to greet my form,
In living tissue spun.

The deathly veil, the borderline,
Where finished lives are stored,
The Baron at his graveyard keep,
Who knows the spectral horde.

The ghosts of ages dead and gone,
That tarried on the earth,
Ferried down to death’s soft town—
The cycle of rebirth.

The dead they like to speak to me,
And know their shape in flesh,
Since here, beyond the borderline,
They live again afresh.

It’s Adam, just old Adam,
Sitting on his broken throne,
Seen by all the living,
And to all the dead well known.

Living on the borderline,
I see the sunken ship,
Sailors drowned in raging sound,
And flung to death’s sweet trip.

There is no mad agenda here,
Or need to men impress,
But only deathly drifting droves,
In torpid black caress.

We’ll tell you anything you want,
We know about the fall,
The axe that swung, and Satan’s son,
Indeed we know it all.

Here, beyond the borderline,
The dead they like to talk,
Whispering in eerie tongues,
Though never once I baulk.

I will harken with mine ears,
Belonging to a man,
And offer up my sympathy,
In any way I can.

I’m a listener to the dead,
For dead men tell no lies,
And surely it’s the truth I want,
To cleanse these teary eyes.

The truth will set one free they say,
And dead men know this rhyme,
So I will tarry here with them,
Beyond the borderline.

ADL