To The Gates of Heaven and Hell
Part I: The Wanderer

The door creaked open,
And in he walked,
A wanderer of ragged cape and iron pin,
With wet, weather-stained boots, roughly tied,
With old rough unshaven face,
And gnarled, oaken hands, he sighed,
His wrinkled visage, fallen from grace.
And in his hand a cane of haft
Long and black and trimmed
By, upon fire hardened shaft,
A dull bronze shod end.

"A room for the night,"
He called at the bar,
And the innkeeper shuffled up quiet,
The book in his hand held ajar,
"Sorry but we have no beds,
We are full, thou come to late."
The stranger sighs then spreads
His gaze upon the lounge, the bar and keeper,
The maid with tray nearby, and slightly apart
Men close to the fire for more ale do entreat her,
As they gathered nigh on the hearth.

"If I may then I'll take the hearth,
I have not much in way of money,
But if this grace thou shalt impart,
Then gather 'round, I shall tell my story."
The innkeeper nods, inviting to stay,
"Let us see thou ply thy skills,
And help us pass this night away."
The stranger smiles, and he lifts
Off his worn, weathered attire,
And rubs his hands together as he sits,
And takes his place by the fire.

"I have travelled upon many a quest,
And journeyed upon many a route,
From East to West,
From North to south,
O'er desert, ocean and sea wide,
'Cross prairie, plain and mountain,
To lands where giants abide,
And to the strongholds of the dwarves.
I have wandered through cold,
Through fire and ice and perilous groves,
Through brimstone, death and danger untold."

"I have been to the gates of Hell,
I have glimpsed the very threshold of Heaven,
I have seen those we bade farewell,
Man and child, friend and woman,
I have seen those so long gone,
Alexander and Caesar, Boru and Fionn,
I have been to The Gates and from them shone
Rays of perpetual light and darkness cruel,
Where perils and dangers like water art,
Following my path, my desire of soul,
From the stars to bowels of earth."

"What I saw there, I shall tell thee,
So thou too shalt know it's ruin or respite,
Until someday thou too shalt see,
What's up above the sky and stars bright,
Or down below with serpent's spite,
Up above in paradise,
Or down below in torment outright.
This tale for my bed I shall tell,
For lodging here and some ale,
So gather 'round and listen well,
And I shall take thee to The Gates of Heaven and Hell."

"When first a lad of years score and two,
I set sail upon the ocean,
With a hardy ship and a merry crew,
When clouds from the West darkened the sun,
Bringing storms and waves in their wake,
That lashed the boat with anger strong,
Tore mast and made bow quake.
And to the mast I held as if a child,
As I plummeted down towards the great,
Dark, empty sea, frothing and wild,
And resigned all hope to fate."

"The waves duly calmed, the wind grew tranquil,
And clinging to the mast I drifted along,
For half score days I floated still,
Bobbing up and down upon wave strong,
With my clothes ripped and tore,
And salt drying my skin, parching my tongue,
Till at last I glimpsed the shore,
A mountain on horizon vast,
Emerald green of many shades,
With mountains tall and rivers fast,
Plains wide with beasts and glades."

"I drifted on my worn mast there,
And alighted upon an unmarked shore,
And rolled on to my back where
I stared at a sky of deep cyan.
At last rising to legs of lead,
To trudge to shade of forest old,
And beneath green hued light I lay instead,
Sun sparkling amongst the leaves and bark,
A bird crying out somewhere far away,
All silent but for that lark,
I slept there still, through end till break of day."