A Terrible Toll

A clanging, banging, awful noise
has stolen all my hopes— my joys.
Those dreams for my pathetic life
bring nothing now but pain and strife.
The birds still sing, the seas they swell,
 no joys they bring, just sounds from Hell.
The bells the bells,
hear how they toll—
I fear quite soon I’ll have to go.

 
Poor people sing down in the street,
by happenstance, the bells keep beat.
My life, devoid of friend or foe,
hermetic paths I chose to go.
But now, the cold cruel clutch of death
creeps closer still to steal my breath.
The bells, the bells,
hear how they toll—
so very soon they’ll come, I know.

 
Soft shadows fall like velvet curtains,
slow they slink, these silent serpents.
So stealthily, devouring light,
whilst I’m convinced all is not right.
Far down below the people dance,
ignoring now the manic's manse.
The bells, the bells—
invade my brain,
the sounds they make drive me insane.

 
Egregious, the ways of sin,
like silken webs once we begin
to get wrapped up, become entwined,
those tolling bells assail our mind.
The slaughter comes, cruel crimson, red—
to cover all the woeful dead.
The bells, the bells,
how loud they toll,
invade my core—tear at my soul.

 
At last a stillness, shadows stir,
whilst whiffs of frankincense and myrrh
waft up from dismal lifelessness
to hint of rest and righteousness.
Yet, high above the dire din
the bellman tugs the rope again—
The bells, the bells,
their telling toll, 
now open wide the gates of Sheol.