Here begins the Book of the Bard of Barrow
Endless nights drank down to hard snow
And left silent ice black over Barrow.
The dregs of joy were strewn on the horizon
In weak crimson streaks as the sun lay dying.
When the midnight jet sweeps across frozen plains
Smiles wither, retract and hide to stay sane
For they thrive in light, and the light does not stay
But four short hours of the nocturnal day.
No sound can be heard but an unearthly howl
That tortures the land and digs to the bowels, 10
(So torments the soul nature’s sadist demands)
That people lose hope in the power of man,
And retreat to dim caves to wallow in sorrow,
To drink and regress and remain ‘til tomorrow.
Some dream of a paradise verdant and warm,
A savior from fate and hope bare and forlorn
But the roads are closed; there is nowhere to travel
So they sit and they wait for their minds to unravel.
One such barren night fate fell in white robes
With cascading knives that sliced to the bone, 20
And rattled the window so fierce where I lay
That the keeper locked up, and said we must stay.
I found myself stuck among strange company
Who, caught between homes, remained solemnly
Like emperors huddled to outwait the cold,
And sigh so it goes, and so it is told.
The wind-beaten inn was not more than a shack
It curled and swayed by old winter’s attack
And we did the same from white father’s fear
With trembling hands nursing whiskey and beer. 30
Not a word was spoken in the depth of the night
Wary glances were cast in the wavering light
Until drink incensed each soul to a smolder
And judgment whispered from shoulder to shoulder.
From my corner I felt the glow of alcohol
Rise to my cheeks and my diffidence fall,
I observed dress and manner with a shadowy grin,
Deduced each persona and in types boxed them in.
There was a doctor, a lawyer, a young executive,
A professor, a priest, a soldier fully equipped, 40
A therapist, an athlete, and two vagrant men;
And with the roles laid out, let the stories begin.
Tumors of the Mind 