A blanket of sheer darkness spread into the heavens.

As the moon and stars light the night with whispered legends

Of the bone-chilling graveyard that is long forgotten

A swirl of the violent, howling, and biting wind

Chills my bones, disrupts my mood, and freezes my skin

I shivered in pure silence; my hands are tightly bound.

Suddenly, I heard a deep, strange, and macabre sound.

A demonic laugh comes from the skull in the lake

I ran away and soon found the safe path I could take.

I panted and asked, "Why did he laugh? Is he alive?"

My mind made illusions that drive me to insanity

I pinched myself hard and brought myself back to reality.

With curiosity, I visited the eerie place.

A once-holy graveyard that lost its ethereal grace

It is a den of doleful and vengeful spirits.

Roaming around, frightening each man who visits it

Along with the bodies buried six feet underground

The soil decayed as the leaves from the trees fell and browned.

The plants formerly known for their beauty are wilting.

The gloomy, unclean, and abandoned graves are crumbling.

Into millions of cracked and forgotten stones

Tall grasses enveloped me as the cruel wind moans.

I escaped from the blades so lethal and overgrown.

A trickle from the moss synchronised with my bitter and hot tears.

For I saw your grave; I didn't know you left me after all these years.

Here it is once more
- a dark form looming -
A shadow from Before,
A storm's mark, dooming.
.
Invisible vise grip,
the weight on my chest;
Marble-heavy crypt,
A thornbird's nest.
.
This hunter is slow,
patient, though relentless;
with no arrow, or bow,
or trigger to press.
.
His footsteps fall monotone
- finality's beat -
Like soot on a wall of bone,
the last defeat.
.
Although he'll stay
out of sight, a dark drape,
Know that his prey
might never escape.
.
When no one's around,
When comforts are few,
In the scent of moist ground,
He could find you too.
.

satin black robe, maroon nails,
my cold palms on a colder marble balustrade,
the moon soaked rose garden,
and crying angels of that medieval fountain;

Beethoven creeping in the background
but still my heart didn't strung a sound;

All I did to find inspiration
still I'm going blank for years
words won't splendidly fill my unfinished fiction;

But still I'm here
grasping onto the midnight smoke
trying to give colours to my drunk imaginations;

My tired sighs now wished
that it'd be easy
to come up with words,
a missing lover
or a ballroom ******
or a heartbroken maiden
with empty goblets filling her scars;
anything would do now;

As long as this melancholic sonata goes on,
And before this cooing midnight
disappears into a blinding dawn,
You would find my impassive face
and desperate gaze
capturing floating words
to give a meaning to this new found romanticism;