I will chase your ghost through the garden,
Through all the gardens,
Through scenery that collapses and assembles
In an endless variety of illusions.
I will hound your deathly footsteps;
I will be the one constantly laying
Cowslips under your feet.
You want to haunt the kingdom of the Dead;
I will haunt you:
I will be the ghost to your ghost
Wherever you go.
All the skeletons of Hell,
All the swords of fury and despair,
All the twisting darkness and stairs of deception;
None of them will touch me
And I will prevail.
I will wait, in constant motion,
Until your ghost remembers.
I will crack open the Underworld,
Because I must.
I will break Death into pieces and plant it
Because I cannot do otherwise.
This is my name;
This is what I came to do.
I will chase your ghost through the garden
Where the black flowers grow;
I will lay all the colours before you;
Though it might take a month,
Or ten years;
If it takes the rest of my life,
I will not stop.
One day you will see the wildflowers
And the road of them behind you.
You are not dead;
Death has cast a glam on you
And now you wear a garland of shadows.
I have your crown of bright flowers,
I have the memory of Spring;
I have the taste of mint and hawthorn on my lips;
I have the sight of the first blossom in my eyes
And the warmth of the Sun on my skin.
Touch me; I am real;
It is you who is walking in unreality.
You who think you have already died.
I will be the Fury of your delusion.
They say that no one can rescue another,
That your salvation lies with you alone;
Let them rot;
Their words are made of card.
When they stalk the darkness,
I will pray for their deliverance
And that some lover follow their dark footsteps
And place flowers of love
At their deathly feet.
Because I must,
Because it is my name,
I will remind you:
You are not dead;
Your ghost is no ghost.
I will lay the flowers of colour beneath your feet
And, beloved, you will remember again to live.