The Collapse of the Faded Castle: Vol. 3

A poem by an unknown hand. Between the lines runs a strange and unlucky air.

At first it was only the shadow of a curtain stirred by breeze on the wall,

and from somewhere the fine sound of animals gnawing and grinding.

Then came waves of hoarse, eerie laughter in empty rooms—

nameless fear and nightmare spreading through the black night.

At last, with terrifying thunder and storm,

a thin mist of faint red light,

like a shroud, covered the whole castle.

On the central stage a tall, lean black shadow fell—

the black-robed demon-spirit had finally come to the door.

People who had just been making merry

soon fell one after another

before they could even utter a cry.

The master sat trembling on his throne;

his soul too had been taken by the dark.

With the roar of brick and rubble falling,

the castle shed its former glory

and was swallowed by faintly glowing water.

The blood moon once hidden by the tower reappeared in the sky

to spread its most unlucky red light over the earth.

Now in the purest lake-water of the world

is mirrored a faded, broken, decaying castle.

The golden halls and festival music of old

seem as if they were long dreams and legends from the start.

The ruins give off a choking decay and a gloom hard to dispel.

Through shattered grim windows many statue-like monsters pass,

sinking without cease to a dissonant melody, until they fall into the deep sea.

And there, save for darkness, death, and elegy—there is nothing else.