PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

     Skipping among the graves surrounded by the torments of silent screams carried through the wind.

The ground is damp from midnights rain upon such unholy land you trot.

Restless are the spirits under a sheet of fog and vines catching to you as if the dead grabbing at your feet.

Dare not to cross their path for you shall regret it dearly and do not call to them for you shall recieve a most unpleasant answer.

Your sleep will be a plague of horrid nightmares if you happen to disturb their peace so watch for where you rove.

     Such a stale damp taste with each harsh inhale of breathe.

Running your finger tips along cold wet marble stone reading the names, dates, and messages left for who resides beneath the soil.

Gusts of wind rustle the trees leaves and stir the fog as frigid air stings your nose and cheeks.

Stepping atop the cracked and overgrown stone path leading beside dozens of crypts and tombstones.

So many statues of saints cracked and crumbling with vines tightened around them which looks to be the only thing holding them together anymore.

    You reach some stairs leading to a grave higher then the rest which has a dome above it.

Watching your footing, slowely way is made carefully up the damp stone steps, and reaching the top you spin around.

You peer out across the outstretch of catacombs, just above the fog that settled upon the ground below.

You realize there is nothing here for you anymore.

You finally decide it's time to flee from this place in which you were enjoying a few moments ago.

You quickly escape from the dome skipping down the stairs, leaving no trace behind.

You exit the graveyard humming to yourself and smiling feeling refreshed.