The tedious graveyard shift comes around again,
The ghosts and ghouls of my past clocking in.
We meet each other at the silver gate;
We greet each other with the same stare each night.
I wonder if some will stay overtime with me under this moon,
Or if we can led our own paths once more come morning.

full moon, nervous edge, sweat beads,
my lungs are bruised and beaten,
and my heart is made of bone.
why, pomegranates bleed,
sigh and remain uneaten,
calcify or rot alone.

i saw persephone cry
and all the angels alight,
stark and sad in burning flame.
a soft weeping right nearby,
holy fires of the night,
and i swear i heard my name.

possession requires a host,
but i couldn't catch my breath
stumbling through the graveyard.
i don't believe in ghosts,
but the awesome fear of death
caught me lonely and off guard.

i will try to describe it:
in the face of this feeling,
your guts are on the table,
your insides exposed, moonlit,
mine were cold and revealing,
dead, skeletal, and mangled.

as amongst these stones
     on mossy tread
I wander rounds
     throughout my head,
I whisper soft,
     salutatory,
the names of carved
     and aged glory,
in hopes one day
     far down the line
someone may
     treat me in kind.

Where the dead lie the flowers grow,
The trees shoot tall and the winds blow.
Resting in their eternal peace,
Memories live on and never cease.
Weathered stone and faded names,
At home, broken pictures in broken frames.
The woosh of an aeroplane flys overhead,
To honour their sacrifice and salute the dead.
For they have died so we might be free,
Lives lost inland and those at sea.
For we recall all that they gave,
As we whisper quiet prayers beside the grave.

I had a dream of you and I,
layin' on a dead poet's tomb
playing our song, watchin' the stars
and wishing one would fall into us.

A little rain then
Sun, the wilted flower speaks
Its song of the truth.
Graveyards turn to flowerbeds,
Watch the petals dance with me.

A quite audience, easily forgotten
The passing of winter rain

Stretch and strain, back to my game
Oblivious once again

Yet your pall remains,
A kiss of mist upon the soul
A sentinel
Of chestnut, oak and magpie’s lair

The cross you bare, a gentle snag
From times when you were elsewhere

A golden wave crashes down
Heavens glory reflected, here

The soft rustle of recent gift
A reminder that we care

Angels cry in torment
Twisting and swirling through the thick black clouds
They curl their wings around the
Uncaring gravestones, crying for sanctuary
From their impassive god.
I watch as the reaper leans a hand across my bleeding eyes
And leads me away from the fury of wings
Beating across hollow bones-
As hollow as their halos.