Before all gods took their thrones,
Before days began all their tomorrows,
Deep in the centre as earth formed stone,
All things sprung from Sorrow.
Sorrow never made it as a god,
Shunned by those who lost their kin,
Even those who knew his beginning,
Could not bear to look at him.
All others gods were gifted from many righteous hands,
Growing and exulted in fair and pleasing lands,
But Sorrow was never altered, nor praised or admired.
Yet all around him fell with plenty, all that he required.
One was there for sorrow,
And all things were made of One.
And twos and threes were borrowed,
For him all things eventually came undone.
Sorrow had no face to gaze upon,
Yet he crept into the corners of their eyes,
For some a blink and he was gone,
Yet some got wrapped in his hooded guise.
Ragged shrouds caught on his spines,
Ashen tipped from funeral pyres,
The matted fur stuck under his scales,
Made a robe hemmed with blood dyed broken briars.
On each slitted sleeve he wore rows of bells,
To ring in tune with scores of screams,
And everytime he moved his arms,
The bells in moonlight gleamed.
Down his arms despair wrapped,
And 10 rings of loss laid on his hands,
And the inconsolable stench of grief,
Ate into the skin beneath the bands.
Claws grew from every fungal tip,
And ferns clung to every curve,
And in-between all of the shit,
Tails of maggots were observed.
His wake echoed the suffering,
Which down his legs in wisps were wound,
Sorrow shuffled everywhere he crept,
As he dragged his carcass round.
Even before man roamed the world,
Under boughs of endless pines,
Repeated pains and death were cycled
Dark woods around him whispered,
Sending warnings on the breeze.
From him rivers ran and shouted with flow,
As he trampled his disease.
Where fear cast its spells,
There sat Sorrow waiting,
To ring his sorrowed bells.
As he festered and he spread
All sang songs of pure lament.
Birds gathered high within the air,
And cried for Sorrow upon descent
And as the sun moved westward,
The sea began to show the moon,
Reflecting from its surface,
Now man began their journey,
Even from the first babe born,
Sorrow was the first they knew,
From their cries he heard the mourn.
Beneath their saddened swollen face
Were thoughts that laid to him,
And as he quickened in his pace
The screams became deafening.
Moved his dominion from ancient lands,
To them he sank his festered claws,
and seeped into every man.
He left the plants and trees and seas
And mostly left the beasts,
For the sorrow he got from human kind,
Was more than he could reap.
The ungod of sorrow hears the wails,
And comes to take his woes,
To him lyrics of loss cast on gales,
Were wrapped gifts from deepest souls.
That surly beast of sorrow came,
And took on all that ever was
And every being knew his name,
But called on by name he never was.
Mentioned in all that was written,
Recalled in ancient tome,
Familiar to every apostle,
But cast out from every home.
And when mankind created gods,
With lofty thoughts from joy,
For all these things there will be an end,
And to him they will but fall.
Thunders rolled across the scape,
Over him the sky's they wept
Flooding countless untold fates,
To him their lives were swept.
On towers in the distance,
Starved from pestilence that crept,
Whole villages held hands in fear,
And OH! to him they leapt.
In some rare times they forgot him,
And then when sorrows laid too thin,
Fires rose from mountains spires,
And woed all that breathed it in.
He was heard in the bells of death carts,
As mothers sorrow screamed,
And in the strings of lyres,
which played out ancient dowries.
Shuddered bangs of skin made drums,
Marched out his fateful tune,
Wailing echoes carried the hum,
Rolling over mountain dunes.
Death all around him lingered,
Foul stench upon the air,
Of new born baby's and of old men
And countless beasts that fared.
Their slitted eyes by candle light
Feared the feast of family,
Snapped by hands that fed them,
And once watched their birth with glee.
Held in hilts of dripping swords,
Behind the quiver of every bow,
In battle axe and poisoned tips,
His presence was soon to show.
As he stood in blood trod ground,
The last eye closed as battles were won,
Bodies strewn in great piles around,
He knew that there was work, to be done.
From beginnings and to frayed ends,
Onwards he marched and inward crept,
Even in the highest hopes,
He found belongings to collect.
From majestic halls where kings ruled,
Clad in gold mined by hands of dead,
Even there he had his place,
And on master and servant fed.
Deep in hollowed forgotten tombs,
He was etched into the moss,
In cobweb covered cornered gloom,
Where bodies went to rot.
And in praises and joyous festivities,
His name was never spoke,
But he knew was simply time it took,
To reach these weary folk.
A lover sat with salted cheeks,
and curled from pity's shivers,
But even in darkness never alone,
for Sorrow swam its rivers.
From him the nights silver lingered,
The silence never quite complete,
For ever round him, dressed in prayer,
For all hearts end in breaking,
And all bodies end and buried,
Sorrow is there to collect his wares,
And feeds off endless worries.
None like to tell they know his name,
Or share when he had been,
And if disturbed as they lay together,
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