Interred beneath the cool

Damp loam

The past lays curled

the rope around its neck

an invitation

or a warding

against the spirits lurking

just beyond the reach

of the dim bog light

at the edge of the gloaming

ghosts with dark twitching fingers

tongueless mouths

and cemetery smiles

all to beckon me

Fear of Death


twin ravens tirelessly scout the dusty surface

advancing miles of an unnamed road

twisting far into the silent distance

beyond the rotting trees

a lonely grove of gallows

full of reticent ghosts.


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