There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights
But the queerest they ever did see;
One of those was the night a self proclaimed sinner did tramp;
His heart grabbed by icy horror; for the rest of the world,it was a heartfelt downpour.
When every light seemed deceitful, he had chosen to embrace darkness.
So light was the petrichor;so deep his melancholy.
With every stroke of wind reiterating the secrets of charnel house in his ears;
Even the screams in his throat were frozen.
Hope had moaned away from his life like a lost soul.
He recollected the sight of a lifeless cadaver lying peacefully in the same cage in which once he bought a feathery winged life as a butt of ridicule.
For the captor could easily cease the blameless captive from touching the limits of the sky;
A mere spectator his he; once the victimised soul escapes far beyond his ‘captivity’ to reach out to the bright heaven; eternally.
His winged companion had crossed to oblivion & the curtain of life fell.
Awe was evoked by the thought that such a brief bond resulted in so vast a void;
For the repentant sinner quite understood; the worth of a soul & the change that’s wrought.