Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab (BPAL) Yule Limited Edition Perfume Oil (Limited)
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
As distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light,
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
Lucky the bell — still full and deep of throat,
Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent —
That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious note
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
Like some poor wounded wretch — long left for dead
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed
By bloody pool — rattling, gasping his last.
A winter's horror: smoke and stillness, faded incense and the metallic tang of blood.
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