GRAVEYARD

The old dirt smells like rotted things, A heavy fear the whole place brings. The stones are wet with evening dew, Or maybe tears from me and you. I feel a touch, a breath so near, But no one lives to banish fear. Just sunken mounds where bodies lie, Beneath the black and empty sky. A crooked hand, a wooden cross, To mark the sorrow, mark the loss. The shadows dance, they twist and grow, They want to grab your soul, you know. I hear a scratch beneath the soil, The dead are restless from their toil. They push the lid, they try to rise, With blank, white holes where once were eyes. The ground is soft, it pulls my shoe, The cold, dead world wants me in, too. No path to follow, no way out, Just the silent dead all about. Run now, before the earth can claim Your living body, whispering its name.