The Man Of Sand

The Man Of Sand

by Charles E S Fairey

To the Man of Sand

The time will pass,

Grip Grimm’s Hand

Death’s Final Mass.

Stare into his eyes

The Dark Oblivions await,

Pass through the veil’s lies

Embrace the love of Fate.

Here he reposes, Throne of Grace

Cloaked and hooded with scythe in hand,

Brilliant eyes and gruesome face

Say hello to the Man of Sand.

The clocks ticking chiming away

Surrounded by hands of mortal time,

His shadow watching names, day by day

His book of life and death, his immortal rhyme.

Like a violin his sombre tone

His eyes dark as deep abyss,

His sacrament, blood and bone

His love, a black rose’s kiss.

Here he reposes, Throne of Grace

Cloaked and hooded with scythe in hand,

Brilliant eyes and gruesome face

Say hello to the Man of Sand.

Names erased from selected leaf

Written into Death and gone from Life,

The Song of Names, his eternal teeth

For his mortal instrument, the unconquerable scythe.

The Harvester, the Reaper, the Harbinger of Fate

Listen in the wind for here comes doom,

Once you’ve seen his form its way to late

For Oblivion envelopes all in stone marked tomb.

His life a lonely tome of stringless harps

His hands the coldest draughty shiver,

His breath an unfelt wind of silent hearts

Him the ferrymen of the Abyss’ river.

To the Man of Sand

You Must Go when he beckons,

All aboard, Grip Grimm’s Hand

For all life the days he’s reckoned,

Taken across the Void from this land

The clocks final chime, no more seconds,

Your Name never uttered, lips now silent

The violin plays a sombre tome, your veil vacant,

For now he beckons, Grip My Hand

“For I Am, the Man, of Sand.”