Chill of Death

The Ghost of Christmas Future Silent spectre in dark-lit halls dec'd with boughs of pine and holly; Awaiting, hooded, veiled in ragged shawls arrived on Death-cab's trolley. So seems slipstreams of screaming banshee dream, all the Christmases gone wrong. Yester's eve has seen men teem, their hearts collapsed by song. Dark, prophetic, nigh and heere, what silent fires burn; The desperate Present draws ever near the room singes by its turn. And world resolved on axis bright, the off-light mood transfixed: when destiny's ship moored fast to-nite by land and sea, the soften'twilight betwixt.