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By Tony DeLorger © 2011
Shadows long over crypts and stone,
as dying sun enlivens bone,
beneath the earth of rot and stench,
death awakens in darkness vent.
Silhouettes of angels crust,
hovering over graves unjust,
like sentinels of the deathly hordes,
when night awakes and un-dead accords.
They crawl from beds of feasting worms,
their fingers bone the flesh withdrawn,
seeking fiendish ghoulish fun,
at the expense of the living breathing ones.
They drag their partly shredded limbs,
their guts now dry and clumped within,
their eyes so white and precarious mounted,
in skulls now skinned and hair less counted.
Rags now draped over skeletal frames
and dried up flesh in bits remain,
as shadows filled with evil refrains,
as clicking, dragging death.
In deeper sleep those living weep,
for all those dead in earthy sleep,
decaying life now wander streets
in search of what they knew.
If only the living knew their fate,
in darkness walk the living ‘scape,
to draw the breath from silent strife,
at rest all calm in dead of night.
A lipless mouth bent over sleep,
inhaling life from dozing meek,
oblivious to ghoulish dead,
those evil thoughts inside their head.
At daybreak, when death now sleeps,
the living rise all dazed and creep’ed,
the touch of death in lingered thought,
misunderstood and never sought.
In sunlit yards the dead regard,
their shallow lives as fiendish guards,
of stone and putrid death discards,
their lost and fallen ways.
In dream of all reclaiming life,
they suck it from a world in strife,
in hope of form and better life,
as people they once were.
But life in shadow is all they get,
behest of their earthly living set,
to remain the worm infested vet,
a death of endless pain.
The dead should lie and take the sleep,
in arms of death no human’s weep,
in silence still and thoughtless reap,
a peaceful end in life.