19 July 2012
At the crack of dawn, Or the start of morn, You may hear the banshees call. Beware the sharp haul, Yet be not afraid, You are not who is to fade. At least, currently, you still remain, But your existence is the dead's bane. Her warning wail, This screaming female, Foretells a death, Reveals that one will no longer draw breath. An Irish myth, Otherworldly fact, How can her soul remain intact? Is she like us? Can she be kind? Or in her evil will we find? Is she forever bound, To scream and shriek and shout aloud, Sharing her sorrow and her grief, That a life has been taken by the reaper thief, A noise of such pain and despair, That makes you wonder if there was ever any hope there, A scream of anguish at the devil himself, Another gone; every life stolen a scar upon herself, Each murder a new drain, Forever, unrelenting pain. Her heart torn out, Her voice does shout, Her tears adorn the forest floor, When another dies in vicious war, Can her fragile spirit bear it anymore? I saw her fall, Her sisters sense it, screaming all, Murdered by those she warned, So that their deaths she would not have mourned, But in their ignorance and fear, They simply saw a monster here, Believing her to bring death to them, But now their own souls they have chosen to condemn, For she was only the courier, These beings the eternal worrier, Her life cut short, For some humans awful sport. Her body burned, Her fate, her death, it was not earned. She did not deserve her hated lot, She sought to help their deaths be fought, But they left her ashes in the snow, In a way to let the others know, So that they would stay hidden now, And keep their screaming quiet and low. So when you hear the banshee, Say a prayer, And beware the reapers hating glare, They won't take revenge, Her death they won't yet avenge, For still they wish to help us, Despite their growing distress, That they should depart, And leave us, our two kinds should part, Before we kill and slay them all, And joke at this and have a ball, They have made their decision, So that both our kinds do not have a fierce collision, Because they know who will die, After all, they predicted all this time. You might just hear them, rarely though, When someone special passes through, I ask, beware their brutal song, They now must stay forever strong, And wail their grief throughout the ages, While in their hearts the battle rages, Do they kill us? Or leave us? Could they possibly deceive us? Another now took the dead ones place, Appearing without a trace, So flee here quick, Because it could just be a trick, Or else she might just have to scream once more, For you will be why she does roar.
I'm part Irish, so...Figured I might write about the 'woman of the fairies', an Irish legend. And so, the banshee.
The Banshees Call • Opuss № I