Each note played. A dirge, flickering
luminous above my haunted apparition,
the wight told of in tales yet to come.

A mist travels low tonight in the tombs.
It holds the grass in stasis, like a frigid
spirit, bitter and rampant.

Alas my dear! Too young. Too bold. Too
naive, and yet... wisdom pours from your
veins in rivulets of silver tongues.

And I, standing by unseen in the barrows,
unable to mourn, unable to bear witness
to your fall from this pale earth... I cry.
A shattering sound of heartache and loss
to make even old wives quiver in their
tales.

Ah, my love. My heart. My warmth.

Visit me not, I beg. Do not grieve for me.

Remember the words written on my
tomb. Recall what I told you. These words...

'The wanderer wanders. He waits ahead'.

I’m a light switch!

You see,
when I‘m switched on
everything turns bright,

and when I’m switched off,
I become one with the darkness

I could be
too bright at times,
or a an utterly dark self

It’s hard to recognize me
when it‘a dark, I’m unseen

But I can’t recognize myself
when it‘s bright, I’m blinded

All I need is the a
trigger to turn
a bright room
into a graveyard

So please be more
careful with me

I am a light switch

Skeleton!
Tell us what you lack ...
the ability to love,
your flesh so slack?

Will we frighten you,
grown as pale & unsound ...
when we also haunt
the unhallowed ground?

Keywords/Tags: Halloween, skeleton, pale, haunt, grave, graveyard, unhallowed, ground, thin, kin, frighten, frightening, scary, horror, terror, slack, flesh, fleshless, bone, bony, unsound, haunting

The home is under
           the leafy tree.
The graveyard too
         is not far to see!

From timid tap to thud feet come running-
Eyes in the back of necks dare open to the groan
of a grandfather ticking clock, fingers
fingers in fauna twist to turn as dry bones roll within casket homes-
snapping knees and grinding of joins vibrate through floors waking.
Souls-
the crack of a whip hollows out stones as they tip south-
Eyes wide shut.
              Eyes wide shut-
                                                          Eyes

I walk the stones each Sunday
I leave flowers as I walk
Not for certain people
Just in case the spirits talk

I left a rose for Eleanor
Gone 100 years
Just to let her know that
Someone still sheds tears

There's lots to learn while out here
Walking through the stones
Listen close to all the voices
That aren't as silent as their bones

There are soldiers who died fighting
For freedom they did die
From the beginning of our country
Who now beneath us lie

They fought the revolution
Some fought in Vietnam
Some died lost deep inside themselves
Now, folks don't give a ****

There's many here of children
From the old orphan home
They found them buried out in back
So, there their spirits roam

The grass is kept up nicely
Though the stones are left to rot
I try to clean them up a bit
I guess I'm all they've got

I started out just walking
Now, I clean the stones while here
I give them the respect they miss
I can feel their spirits near

So next time you're out walking
And you want to stretch your bones
Bring a brush down to the graveyard
We'll take a walk among the stones

Graveyard shift ,
I don't even see the sunrise
It's  still dark outside
Before I sleep;
I know I will wake when
Its sunset.
Am I even human anymore?
I don't remember the last time
I saw the sunrise.
My body's  cold but I don't shudder,
I barely sleep , I hear no beat from my chest.
But I'm very much alive.
Or is this just feelings of a cold winter...

Belltowers chariot signalling distance
Towering gallows where I've been sentenced
The iridescence of coming doom
Graveyard daisies are in bloom
Their season is unusually sober
They've been growing whole October

Visiting Father’s Grave

Visiting my father’s grave
In Yakima
The ancestral land of the Aller clan

Thinking about my father
And his legacy
And thinking that I am

My father’s son
There is so much
I wanted to tell him

So much I wanted to share
So much I wanted him to see
My accomplishments

He was taken from me
Before I had achieved
my dreams

Before I had become the man
That he and I both knew
I was destined to be


Ghosts in Yakima

Walking along a graveyard
Looking for my father’s grave
Seeing all the gravestones

I begin to sense the spirits
Of the restless dead
They linger around the graveyards

Waiting for visitors
Eager to talk to anyone
Who cares to stop

And chat
So lonely being a ghost
With no one to haunt