who's there?

who's there
if my mind is empty?
across the green hill
on an island of mystery
where my full weight
rests on the faire ground
of Scotland or Earth
cacaphony, total sound
while time forever bent
under the runes of life
tugs my sweet sorrow
from temporal strife
Witnessing! Witnessing!
but not the Holy Ghost
wandering inside my head
this fine mysterious host
with seconds on his wrist
hours on his face
what have i missed?
my eyes invited inside
his jacket long and flared
this King of the Underworld
gone before i dared
toward where once he was
i stared:
who's there?