Here, amidst the gray
Tombstones jutting like so
Many teeth from the ground,
One can discover
Mysteries: of silence, of sadness, of
Death.
The favorite haunt of
Night's children; a landscape of
The unknown, a city of many potentials
Waiting to be discovered.
Naked trees scattered here and there,
Their crooked grasping branches
Stirring in the cold gale.

As the burning mass of light
Shining like shards of glass
Falls lower and lower in the sky
And the world grows dim,
The souls of yesterday come
Out of their diurnal slumber.
Souls who wail like banshees
Lamenting their lost lives;
Souls who whisk about
Playfully, clearly enjoying the afterlife;
And souls that, upon meeting a mortal
Mournfully whisper
"Do you know who killed me?"
"Where's my mommy?"
But none can answer.

These souls are the true
Memento Mori, for they are
Not-so-living reminders that
We too shall enter their world
Some distant day.