Excerpts from A Destiny of Souls by Christopher Rice
Fear cannot touch me...
It can only taunt me,
it cannot take me,
just tell me where to go...
I can either follow
or stay in my bed...
I can hold on to the
things that I know...
The dead stay dead,
they cannot walk.
The shadows are darkness.
And darkness can't talk.
I did this for my mother, who died in the company of rats, with many ghosts to lead her toward death and only one daughter to remember her.
Never give in to them. No matter what they do or how important you feel it is to get their acceptance. Never kill part of yourself for them. Because other people will notice that part is missing before you do.
He was not there and so he danced for himself, masked, a naked man among the blind.
To a Child Not Yet Born
What fires burn the heart,
From which God did these agonies start?
Our cobwebs strung from death to death
Are too thin. Our lies the greatest sin.
I will hold you, child not yet born,
And tell you not to forget,
But not to know.
You will soon be dense with memory
And your memory dense with souls.
What fires burn the heart?
From which God did these agonies start?
I hold you, child not yet born.
Yet I am not your god.
Ask me not to stop the pain.
The lies I'll offer
You need not gain.
I cannot tell you how or why.
I can only teach you
That this world calls for you to cry.
It can only taunt me,
it cannot take me,
just tell me where to go...
I can either follow
or stay in my bed...
I can hold on to the
things that I know...
The dead stay dead,
they cannot walk.
The shadows are darkness.
And darkness can't talk.
I did this for my mother, who died in the company of rats, with many ghosts to lead her toward death and only one daughter to remember her.
Never give in to them. No matter what they do or how important you feel it is to get their acceptance. Never kill part of yourself for them. Because other people will notice that part is missing before you do.
He was not there and so he danced for himself, masked, a naked man among the blind.
To a Child Not Yet Born
What fires burn the heart,
From which God did these agonies start?
Our cobwebs strung from death to death
Are too thin. Our lies the greatest sin.
I will hold you, child not yet born,
And tell you not to forget,
But not to know.
You will soon be dense with memory
And your memory dense with souls.
What fires burn the heart?
From which God did these agonies start?
I hold you, child not yet born.
Yet I am not your god.
Ask me not to stop the pain.
The lies I'll offer
You need not gain.
I cannot tell you how or why.
I can only teach you
That this world calls for you to cry.