Hidden in the trees, cement stones litter The silence perturbs, the nightlife titter Visits in the dark, the dread beckons Wandering endless rows, searching sections Beyond the rust clad gate, wind swirls Branches yearn for contact, shadows cast the burls You linger a moment, words you can never find A soul to tether to the mortal plain, our momentary bind Your eyes trace the letteres carved, so in form Wincing at the flashes, the rattle of the arriving storm To remember a life lost, why can’t you recall How did you end up here tonight at all? You’d visited her just a while ago, was it today? Testament are the flowers you layed, not yet withered away You stood here, how long did you stay? Echoing like a perpetual day You walked out the gate, you remember that much Yet again at her solace you stand, you turn in a hunch As you repeat your familiar parting words A glimpse of something, mellowed by overhead birds Tracing the words, in form as the ones you had grow used to reading The storm subsided as did shallow your breathing Look away then back, the neighbouring grave, your name carved in stone How? Ligering question as you inch closer to reread, the idea to disown Could it be true, that you never made it home? You had walked out, bright lights, now here you roam Your friend gone long before, a you just moments ago No need to stop to wonder, now what comes next you know You could no longer feel the rain, but watch it you still do A friend taken and the one left behind, side by side forever are you two Your eyes only linger for a moment more No longer bound to the world of mundane you have no more need for Forget what wastes away below because Lingering on what was has no cause You’re on new plains now, with intent to explore these Even the dead tell stories LLK. *aware that this is not exactly pertinent to the horror/thriller genre but I wanted to write a peaceful yet dark poem with a slight twisted conclusion. So basically I started writing about the peace of graveyards but without obviously stating it was infact a graveyard and the VOP (voice of poem) is routinely visiting a friends grave, when they see their own name on the stone right beside, they come to the realisation that they too have died and rather than linger on what now decays underground they see opportunity to reunite with their friend and see new things.*