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B L A C K M A i D E N
P R O D U C T I O N
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O N M E R R I L Y , M E R R I L Y C H R I S T M A S
There is an angel who is waiting
in the warming shine of a christmas tree,
And a little child, carrying childish pride
Is tuftling over the floor, to reach the oaken door
And in its mystiful, meaningful, curious manner
Is approaching the wooden door, lifting slighty the banner
Covering the hole, the sole entrance for the key.
The banner is falling, and is
Unfurling and curling itself on the floor
And the heart bumps wildly, of the child who is
Rapping, and tapping and snapping at the door,
Which, carrying its wisdom and sorrows of the oak, is
Unfolding the age and the countenance it bore.
And the child is approaching, and risking a slight glance,
At the angel in the chamber, who is pondering in trance.
And the croaking and the mourning of the boards that line the floor
Does not wake up the angel, who is diving in deep lore,
Of fallen heroes and pityful children, and miserable times,
But where a saint has come to heal, and play oh so wonderful chimes
And the child still is creeping, still is sneaking,
Its mysterious though conceived way,
To the angel that is dreaming,
Of the oh so happy day.
And the child is coming closer, closer to that tree,
Which, so mystery encumbered it oh might be,
Is the only hope of the child who cannot see,
That in his early years he is oh so free,
Than on any day or christmas he wont ever be.
But the child is so small and too young to see, that,
The peaceful and protecting angel, is oh so long so dead.
On merrily, merrily christmas.
VOiCE / 08.12.1994
The angel sleeps! Oh, may his sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have him in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This tree for one more melancholy
I pray to God that he may lie
Forever with unopened eye,
While the pale colored child goes by!
- Variation on The Sleeper by Edgar Allan Poe.
ANSi-ARt by SiR
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