Dead-man’s Pass

Up in the hills
Where the wind whistles through the trees
There is a tiny pass
Where men have given all they had
To control that which was there before their time

Their ghosts still haunt the rocks and ravens below
Stay still for a moment
See out of the corners of your eyes their fleeting form
Feel their breathes upon your shoulder
Looking for what – it’s difficult to tell

Both slaves and free alike
Rich and poor the same
All perish alike – food for the worms
No forge has yet minted the coin to stay death’s withered hand
For when upon the shoulder it rests
Not even the cords that bind can save a soul

Up in the hills
The patched earth kills the very grass that holds the soil in place
The vultures’ bones are just as white as the bones of the men who fought and bickered and died
I stood still and let the winds carry away my thoughts
Replacing them with the whispers of men long dead
Their desires and aches
Their loves and hates
At Dead-man’s Pass