There is an intersection between the worlds, Where the cosmic tapestry unfurls. It exists neither here nor there, Enveloped in mystical air. Beware the boundary edge to tread, Where the living stumble on the dead. The cross in the dirt lies clear and bare; Faith is not the thing to be spared. There, the outcast rests out of sight— His soul forever belonging to the night. There, the suicide lies deep in ground Whose weeping spirit makes no sound. These damned shall never see the dawn— Their sunrises ever, eternally gone. There is an intersection between the worlds, Where the cosmic tapestry unfurls. It exists neither here nor there, Enveloped in mystical air. Beware the boundary edge to tread, Where the living stumble on the dead. A junction in the road awaits. This, the calling card of the Fates— The point from which will rise The demon or the divine. This, the path of fragile Man— Part of the ancient, cosmic plan. There, mortal lips must mouth a name, Hailing either the halo or the flame. There is an intersection between the worlds, Where the cosmic tapestry unfurls. It exists neither here nor there, Enveloped in mystical air. Beware the boundary edge to tread, Where the living stumble on the dead. The crossroad sleeps in misty grey (human), But wakes to swallow breath away (life). Hear its whispering of ‘witching spells (is), Conjuring up the gate of heaven or hell (suffering).
