Diminished
Diminished
A diminished cemetery lies in the ruins of tombstones..
You can hear the whistle of the wind in mysterious tones..
The rusty gate hangs on its last resource..
The dark rocky path leading through needs reinforced..
Around the old ruins of tombstones grow enormous weeds.
They stretch to the moon as if to satisfy their needs..
The indignant dark fog looks like the passing angel of death..
The wind dies down emancipating its last breath..
The wilted limbs loom over from the weight of the leaves..
In the muggy fetid air starts a disturbing haunting breeze..
Creatures of the dark lurk in the spots of the murky night..
The half moon in the sky looks as if the darkness took a bite..
The eerie night is placid laced with silence.
The peaceful cemetery owns no violence..
Poison ivy fingers its way through a torn down wall..
The howl in the night beckons other calls..
The cemetery holds its subjects in capture..
They wait peacefully for the life thereafter...
Copyright © Erin Werner | Year Posted 2008
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