A Cemetery romance,
blooming
among the wild weeds
and mossy
peat of a shadowy,
decaying plot.
A
Corpse-ship of unholy love,
under a blood
red moon,
through
barren tree limbs and
gnarled
branches, clawing upwards.
Circling bats
overhead,
screeching
sonnets of passions
defiled by
lust and greed.
Cutting
against the starless sky.
Wind howling
coldly,
swirling the
last scattered Autumn leaves
in twisting
whirlwinds,
scratching at
the damp gravesite grasses.
Graveyard
iron gates,
hollowly clanging
on rusty hinges,
like a
knocker to Hades gate,
and the
Devil’s due.
A name
carved in granite,
etched in
marble,
raised in
cement,
lamenting
love lost through ages.
Rose petals
withered and dry,
fallen in
scented heaps
under the long-forgotten
monikers
of those beneath.
Fragrant is
the sorrow,
in which
they dance,
wrapped in
mist and dust,
each night
embraced.
A cloaked
figure,
silhouetted
in black,
frozen in
love with the
midnight
scene.
No comments:
Post a Comment