Papa Jeff Bloodjinn

Thy soul shall find itself alone/ 'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;/ Not one, of all the crowd, to pry/ Into thine hour of secrecy. / Be silent in that solitude, / Which is not loneliness- for then / The spirits of the dead, who stood / In life before thee, are again / In death around thee, and their will / Shall overshadow thee; be still. / The night, though clear, shall frown, / And the stars shall not look down / From their high thrones in the Heaven / With light like hope to mortals given, / But their red orbs, without beam, / To thy weariness shall seem / As a burning and a fever / Which would cling to thee for ever. / Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, / Now are visions ne'er to vanish; / From thy spirit shall they pass / No more, like dew-drop from the grass./ The breeze, the breath of God, is still, / And the mist upon the hill / Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken, / Is a symbol and a token. / How it hangs upon the trees, / A mystery of mysteries! /--Edgar Allan Poe