Tag Archives: graveyard

The Bone Orchard

In the bone orchard of midnight lavender

Branches pale and bleached, devoid of colour

Where the moon is solemn and stars are buried

Under shadows and overhead darkness florid

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In the bone orchard of midnight lavender

Where no fruit bears and life burgeons never

Drowsy breeze pushes skeins of leaves wilted

Fluttering like grotesque wings of a raven threat

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In the bone orchard of midnight lavender

Chill with solitude and still as stagnant water

Black bonfires flicker in garish admonition

As brooding souls wander and moan in perdition

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In the bone orchard of midnight lavender

Where the restless death shall thus repose forever

Droves of vermins under groves of tales entombed

Where the spectres and spirits linger in their gloom.

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Democracy For The Dead

“The graveyard is not normally a democracy, and yet death is the great democracy, and each of the dead had a voice, and an opinion…and they were each determined to be heard, that night.” ~The Graveyard Book; Neil Gaiman

~*~

A whisper lost in chasmic shadows, seemingly hallucinatory sound of a slither

So let the strangers talk loudly and blither, let their rusty voices echo and shiver

Roaming souls naked, stark, transparent, inert bodies ever decaying and withered

In a place meant for utmost silence and misery, yet it buzzes clear with deathly hithers

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The resting and the restless all have their personal stories to purvey and entail

But unfortunately, dead rotten men and dry dusty bones can’t possibly tell no tales

Their unheard opinions, smoke from their mouth, are transformed into wispy grey fog

That haunts the cemetery, rolling, choking, tendrils, the cleanest air it clogs

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The sick and the diseased, the victims and the murdered, the horridly executed in hate

The innocent hearts alongside the thieving rats, all are equal and have one final date

They all pray for democracy for the dead, to let their sussurus voices do some justice

Listen very closely in the dead of the coldest dislimned night, and one just might hear them speak.

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Conscientious Hauntings

I’m a rose that’s been raised by wolves
My thorns are getting stuck in everything I know
It’s so hard when you would bleed for the truth you know
But we don’t want the truth, we just want control…

~*~

Trailing will-o’-the-wisps recede from the corner of my eye

Playful phantoms taunt me happily as they float freely on by

Poltergeists scream and rattle as they make an awful lot of noise

Wraiths whisper omens in my ear, such a sickly hollow dry voice

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Apparitions and spectres flash quickly by the foot of my bed

Shadows slithering out of my closet and into my head

Spirits with sharp wits leaving riddles and soft declarations

Fuzzy figures, orbs of light, that all seem like a bad hallucination

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I live in a reality where I meet translucent ghosts at every turn

In a graveyard of regrets and dreams, the fallen ambitions of scorn

But the spirits that haunt me and my soul were never such a burden

For these companions remind me of my past mistakes, so I’ll never forget not to do it again.

~*~

…But now I see and I believe
That the ghosts that haunt me
Have been outhaunted…

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