In the Halls of Awaiting
"Beyond enchanted sea, wistful is my sleep
Darkness by my side; through the dreary night
Will you follow me, through eternity
To another world, to the quiet halls..."
"In the Halls of Awaiting", Insomnium, 2002.
When the living depart; do you believe a heart lives on?
What if, when a soul dies, their heart must cling to a single being: their single most precious thing they leave behind?
What if the endless twilight of the afterlife cannot be faced alone; after the solemn bitterness of death? Surely a heart would grope in the fading light of their life for something to hold on to, to desperately grasp for a link back to the life they adored.
Everyone is scared of death. No-one can ever be sure what lays beyond the veil of mortality, and even if a poor soul laden with the burdens of suffering and disease tells you of their sincere wish for death; they will always harbour a sense of profound uncertainty. The human mind will not allow one to walk into the arms of death without fear.
So, when a soul finally slips away, they must make a honest prayer to Death himself; and select from their former existence a single person whom they vow to wait for, until their own departure from the weary mortal coil. Many been chosen over the boundless infinity of Life's existence; mothers, fathers, sons, brothers, lovers... Souls have waited entire lifetimes for their Chosen, mothers have waited for newborn children, young betrothed have waited for their sweethearts to grow old and finally pass on from their still-broken hearts... All reunited in the dismal and dreary walls of the place these longing souls stand and stare for seemless aeons in melancholic anticipation.
The Halls of Awaiting.
A place rooted deep in the oppressive void of Evighet; the clinging force which stops the departed from sailing on silver wings to their final rest, with no devotee to accompany them. Though these shining wings spread wide to take them away, thus they are stricken and rendered flightless for their owner's duration in the Halls, remaining only as cumbersome and aching burdens.
So please; I ask you to embark upon one such journey through the sighs of Evighet, to share the sorrows and exquisite tragedies of the Wait of a poor, lovelorn soul, whose tale has carved it's own name into the gaunt, graven walls of the ever-weeping Halls of Awaiting.