Get a Grip

(For JHL's 'Hauntings') I tempt my fate with tree branches. Each and every night I walk home from my bus stop as darkness drains the light. I pass by St. John's Cemetery and shoot a wayward glance. Ominous rows of tombstones bewitch me in a trance... ... I see them: people resting, strangers from our world in peace together side by side, in death a bond unfurls. I picture souls of children who died before their time from some forsaken circumstance, severing ties that bind; Bind them to their bodies, their families and lives only to contract melanoma at tender age of five. Are these children angry? Will they come after me? As here I stand upright and tall, full grown and healthy? Do ghosts even exist? Can I ever be sure? This hallowed ground, crowded yet empty, contaminated yet pure. ... There's no way I can know for sure what lurks behind those gates, but all these thoughts fill me with panic...I'm through with tempting fate. My walk turns brisk and rapid, I shift my pace to run. My run leads to a sprint, I pray the ghosts don't come... My sprint gives to a dash, my feet can't find their grip In darkness I am blinded, on a fallen branch I trip.